


Dead, Damned, and Dangerous

by Akira_of_the_Twilight



Series: The Trouble with Threesomes and Supernatural Soul Mates [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Kira is a Good Bro, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mild OoC, Wolf Peter Hale, mentions of past character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akira_of_the_Twilight/pseuds/Akira_of_the_Twilight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles squinted at the photo. He’d only seen pictures of Trisha, and the brunette girl ducking out of the picture looked a little like the supposedly dead girl. “Is there a better photo?”</p><p>“No, but her friends swear it's her.”</p><p>Stiles bit his thumb, taking in the information.</p><p>Peter had moved from the bed and had taken to kneeling next to Stiles. Stiles leaned into Peter’s chest, searching for support as he debated how to respond to Scott. “Freaky.”</p><p>“Dude, that’s not even the half of it.”</p><p>Stiles tensed. “Scott, why do I get the feeling you should have led with what you are about to say?”</p><p>“Probably because I should have, but my literature class taught me about story progression and the importance of pacing out info—”</p><p>“Scott.”</p><p>“Right! Sorry! Anyway, people think she was haunting the party and looking for revenge or something.”</p><p>Stiles’ throat went dry. “Revenge?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scott’s voice went somber. “Stiles, someone was killed at that party.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Sorority Sister Overdosed: The Tragedy of Drug Culture in Higher Education Institutions** , the headline of the local newspaper read.

Stiles picked the paper up as he shoveled down a spoonful of cereal. The paper was two days old, but he couldn’t put the article out of his mind. It made him wish he was in a journalism class so he could compare it to the college’s article about the death, i.e. an extended version of the email sent out to all of the students. The college’s article talked about Trisha’s achievements and how she was an asset to the school. It also reminded students that there would be a memorial service for her at a nearby chapel on Saturday.

The local newspaper just jumped straight into the details and then went on a tangent about the evils of drugs. There was also a blurb about depression, one that Stiles found insulting.

Scott trudged out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes and waving his arm around so he wouldn’t bump into anything. When his hand landed on a box of cereal, he took a moment to look around the room. Of course, sweet, optimistic Scott would notice the newspaper in Stiles’ hands. “Dude! Stop reading that already. It’s freaky.”

Stiles threw down the paper. “The only thing freaky about this article is that someone looked at this and decided it was an unbiased masterpiece that got the story down perfectly.”

“Is Stiles ranting about the news article again?” Kira grumbled as she lumbered into the kitchen.

Stiles took a moment to note she was braless and in booty shorts. He took that as a matter of pride in regards to his and Kira’s friendship. When they first started living together, she would not show her face to him until she was fully dressed and made up. Now she wandered around in just her underwear and bathrobe without batting an eye.

She pulled out a chair and sat next to Stiles.

Scott joined them with bowls, spoons, cereal, and a carton of milk stuffed under his armpit. He filled the bowls with cereal and milk and passed one to Kira.

Kira pulled Scott towards her by the back of his head and kissed him firmly.

Stiles groaned and slouched. “C’mon guys, you know the deal: not at breakfast unless Chris and Peter are here.”

Scott threw his hands up. “I still don’t get that rule.”

Kira elbow-jabbed Scott. “Because Stiles feels extra lonely when we do it at breakfast.”

“Why breakfast though?” Scott demanded.

Stiles pouted. “Because it’s the most important meal of the day and is best served with affection.” Affection, which included lots of cuddling in bed, flirtatious banter, ogling of bare chests (and maybe an ass or two if Stiles was lucky), some manhandling in the kitchen, and lots of kisses peppered in between bites of food. Breakfast was Stiles’ favorite meal of the day, especially when he got to share it with his two soul mates. However, without them present the meal was bittersweet.

Stiles ran his finger over the silver mark on his wrist that indicated who his two soul mates were. He took a deep breath and folded the paper. He looked at the calendar posted on the wall and ran through his courses’ syllabi in his head. It was Thursday, and he had a morning class on Friday, but he had no papers due in it, and no test was scheduled. His Thursday afternoon class was also supposed to be all review for the test on Tuesday, which Stiles could easily ace.

“I think I’m going to visit Beacon Hills today.” He smiled. “Maybe surprise the soul mates, you know?”

Scott nodded his head at the newspaper. “Just don’t take that with you. You’ll kill the romance before it even gets started.”

Stiles grinned wickedly and rested his chin on his palm. “Speaking of romance,” he wiggled his eyebrows at Scott and Kira, “what are you two going to be up to all weekend long while I’m gone?”

Kira kicked Stiles in the shin.

Stiles hissed and bent over, but kept smiling. “And this is how I know we're besties. You never had the backbone to kick me before.”

* * *

“You mind closing tonight?” Chris asked his employee Dave. The man had been working for Chris for three years, and Chris had often left the man in charge of the shop during the few times he needed to take off for a week because of some rare find Peter had stumbled upon or because of suspicious supernatural activity occurring nearby. He might not hunt as much as he used to before Peter, but that didn’t mean ignored he it when dubious events occurred. “Need to head home early.”

“Peter called?” Dave asked.

Chris shook his head. “Stiles.”

Dave nodded. He’d only recently learned about Stiles. He had seemed a little thrown by the revelation, but had shrugged it off by saying, “Not really my place to argue with biology and metaphysics.”

“Doesn’t the rugrat usually sneak in late on Fridays?” Dave inquired.

Chris nodded, locking up the glass counter, where he had just restocked it with a new handgun display. “Change of plans.”

“Well then, go. Just return the favor at some point.” Dave waved Chris out.

Chris muttered his thanks, and headed out the door. He hopped in his car and drove home, expecting to be greeted by Peter, but his soul mate’s car was missing from the driveway upon his arrival. Chris pulled out his phone, checking the time. Stiles’ wouldn’t be arriving for about another hour or so. No, that wasn’t quite right.

Chris closed his eyes and tried to recall the exact time Stiles would arrive. It would be closer to four, maybe four-thirty if he hit traffic near Redding.

Chris rolled up his sleeves as he entered his house. The place was neat, but could still use some tidying up before Stiles’ arrived. They always managed to generate a huge mess whenever Stiles stayed over for the weekend, and it would be nice if he could lessen some of the potential clean up.

He put away any loose books or items that were left strewn around the rooms. He then vacuumed and swept before moving onto the kitchen where he cleaned the leftover dishes from breakfast. He then pulled out the chicken Peter had put in the refrigerator last night and prepared it. Once finished he set about stowing the dishes from the dishwasher.

Two arms twined around Chris’ waist from behind as he put away a glass in the cupboard.

Peter hummed contentedly as he pressed his nose into Chris’ neck, gently nuzzling him. “What are you doing home so early, and without telling me? If I had known, I would have delayed my plans for today and stayed home to play.” He nibbled on Chris’ earlobe.

Chris felt a spike of arousal and leaned into Peter. “I decided to leave early since Stiles is in coming in today.”

Peter snorted in amusement, his grin brushing against Chris’ cheek. “It’s Thursday, dear. Even as I struggle to contain myself with the knowledge that I’ll soon have him in my grasp, I can at least manage to keep track of the days.”

Chris frowned, turning slightly in Peter’s grasp. “Stiles is coming over today. Don’t you remember?”

Peter frowned, studying Chris’ face. He feigned a smirk, but his uncertainty shined through. “I would remember if Stiles’ told us such a thing. Unless he only told you.”

It went without saying that such a thing was highly unlikely, and even then Chris would have told Peter about Stiles’ plans.

Chris’ brow furrowed. He knew down to his core that Stiles’ was coming to Beacon Hills. He couldn’t remember when or where he had heard it though. He wasn’t even sure if Stiles had told him or if it had been Peter. If it had been the latter though, Peter shouldn’t be so surprised. “Maybe I’ve been stressing too much again and I am getting my dates wrong.”

“He comes every other weekend, and we visit him on the weekends in between unless there is a full moon. It is not that hard to confuse.” Displeasure wrinkled Peter’s face as he once again took up scrutinizing Chris. A true smirk appeared on his features. “You are getting old though.” He patted Chris’ head. “There, there. Should we start looking into some memory medication? Personally, I would prefer if you went the holistic route.”

Chris scowled and batted Peter’s hand away. “Just for that, I am adding extra garlic seasoning to the chicken.”

Peter’s nose scrunched at just the thought. “I’m a werewolf, not a vampire.”

“Yet you hate the smell just the same.”

Either bored with the conversation or unwilling to admit he didn’t have a snappy comeback for once in his life, Peter cupped Chris’ face and smattered kisses all over Chris’ mouth. Chris chased Peter’s mouth, trying to lure the man into a real kiss, but Peter eluded him. After several attempts, Chris was able to capture Peter’s lips and force them into a deeper kiss. They parted with a smack.

Chris muttered something about finishing his chores, and turned away. Peter flipped Chris around and continued their feverish kiss. The countertop pressed into Chris’ back, and Chris gripped it for purchase. He groaned as Peter burrowed closer to him, pressing their crotches together.

Chris was about to lose himself in the kiss when something tugged on his brain. He put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and directed Peter away.

Peter frowned and leaned in to continue, but Chris leaned away.

Chris glanced at the clock. “Stiles should be here soon.”

Peter huffed and rolled his eyes. “Did we not just go over—” Peter cut himself off, head snapping in the direction of the front of the house. “I’d recognize the spluttering sound of that engine anywhere.” Peter whirled on Chris. “He’s just a mile down the road. When did you two get in contact, and why was I not informed?”

Chris opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Peter crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes flashed red in what most would find intimidating but after years of being together Chris recognized that the motive behind the act wasn’t just intimidation; it was fear.

“I honestly don’t remember,” Chris said, wanting to give Peter an answer even if it wasn’t much of one.

“Then we really should look into getting you some medication.” Peter huffed and spun away. He sashayed out of the kitchen in a way that only Peter could do, somehow a combination of irritation, haughtiness, and seduction. Chris truly had never met anyone else who had master hip swaying to such a degree that complex emotions were conveyed as easily as if Peter had said them aloud, and Chris could hear Peter’s words clearly: “Fuck you, Christopher. I am a master of lies and deceit. You will be punished for this transgression and you better pray it is in the form of BDSM sex otherwise you will find yourself begging for my ass by the end of weekend, because there is no other way I am letting you near this piece of perfection otherwise.”

Chris gulped, but didn’t let his voice waver as he hollered after Peter: “Just remember, Stiles is here. He’ll want to spend time with both of us.”

“I’m sure I can keep Stiles thoroughly entertained with or without you,” Peter said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “I might even tie you up and have you watch just how entertained I can keep him.”

Chris pressed his lips firmly together to keep himself from making a sound at the mental image Peter had put in Chris’ head.

The front door flew open with a resounding bang. “Guess who’s—ack! Peter! Put me down! You’re crushing me!”

Chris strolled out of the kitchen into the front room where Peter had snaked his arms around Stiles’ waist and lifted the boy off the ground. Stiles held himself upright by holding onto Peter’s shoulders. Peter craned his head back and feigned innocence. “Why Stiles? You’re home early. Forgive me, I thought you were an intruder.”

“You hug your intruders to death?”

“Only the barely legal ones.”

Stiles squirmed in Peter’s hold and spotted Chris. He reached out with one had and made “gimme” fingers at Chris. “Chris, help. Peter is being creepy again.”

Chris chuckled and went to take Stiles from Chris, but Peter yanked Stiles away from Chris. “No, after you two conspired against me, I have decided neither of you get to have each other this weekend.”

“Conspired?” Stiles pouted. “We didn’t—“ Stiles brow pinched as he recalled a memory. “Okay, we did conspire to get you to let us change the laundry softener, but you have to admit your shirts feel so much better than they did before. Yes, you have to deal with the artificial scent of lavender, but—”

“That’s not what I am talking about. Although, we will have words about the softener later. I am talking about not being informed that you were visiting a day early.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah. It was a surprise.”

“Why did Chris get to know, but I didn’t?”

Stiles huffed and patted Peter on the shoulder, a sign that he _really_ wanted down. “Because I didn’t tell Chris.”

Peter frowned. He cocked his head as he lowered Stiles to the ground, his hands never leaving Stiles’ waist. “Say it again and use the words: ‘I did not tell Chris I was coming over a day early this weekend.’”

Stiles looked between his two soul mates, obviously baffled by the request. Stiles wasn’t stupid; he knew Peter wanted the sentence phrased a specific way because he intended to listen to Stiles’ heartbeat for a lie.

Chris nodded encouragingly. His chest was tight with worry as he replayed the day’s events in his head. He had been so sure about Stiles’ arrival; if Stiles hadn’t told him about it, then who had?

Stiles shrugged and looked Peter straight in the eye. “I did not tell Chris I was coming over a day early this weekend.”

Peter’s fingers curled tightly around Stiles’ waist. His head snapped to Chris. Red colored Peter’s eyes.

Chris knew without being told what Peter wanted to hear. “I have no idea how I knew he was coming over today.”

Peter growled. He buried his nose in Stiles’ neck, and not in an affection manner. Stiles squawked in surprise and indignation. A few seconds later, Peter released Stiles and grabbed hold of Chris. His fingers felt like steel on Chris’ hips as Peter smelled Chris’ neck.

Peter growled again and released Chris.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared daggers at the ground.

“Uh…” Stiles sidled closer to Chris. “Is there something I’m missing here? So Chris got it in his head I was coming over. Maybe he got the dates wrong or maybe I let something slip previously about not having a lot to do this week in my classes and he made an assumption?”

The red in Peter’s eyes dimmed, returning them to their blue hue. “Possible, but my instincts say otherwise.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and glomped onto Chris. He rubbed his check against Chris’ shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as he nuzzled Chris. “C’mon, Chris, tell him that his wolfie instincts are out of whack.”

Chris wrapped his arm around Stiles and rubbed the base of the boy’s spine. “I wish I could, but if Peter’s instincts are acting up, I’d feel safer if we checked every supernatural possibility.”

Stiles groaned. “Yeah, because everything is caused by the supernatural, like my missing toothbrush from last week. It wasn’t Peter who threw it away; the tooth fairy just stole it.”

“That tooth fairy is a bitch,” Peter muttered, still mentally burning a hole through the floorboards.

“Oh my god!” Stiles shoved himself out of Chris’ arms and stormed into the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll get the spell books out, and get my Harry Potter on. I swear though, if this cuts into Petopher sexy time, I am going to riot.”

Peter looked up from the floor. “He loves his magic time; he won’t riot.”

Stiles groaned from the kitchen.

* * *

Chicken with a side of archaic Latin was the perfect romantic dinner, Stiles thought sarcastically.

He flipped through another ancient tome as he took a bite of his chicken. He tried to comfort himself by pointing out at least it wasn’t breakfast that was ruined when his stomach twisted in anticipation of even that too being ruined. A part of him wished he hadn’t come home early. The whole point of visiting a day early was to get extra time with his soul mates and…

Stiles internally sighed and dropped his fork onto his plate. He was being childish and clingy again. He was getting extra time with his soul mates, and for that he should be happy, he just wanted it to be more romantic. If he was going to spend time sifting through spell books he wanted it to be because Peter had found a potion he thought would interest Stiles. Peter would then show him how to make it in between intimate touches and flirting. Sometimes even Chris would join in.

This—researching demonic possession—wasn’t fun.

Stiles slammed the book shut. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t think Beelzebub possessed Chris just to tell him that I was coming home early.”

Chris reached under the table and clamped a hand on Stiles’ knee and massaged the muscles there with his thumb. “I agree with Stiles. Possession is bit extreme. We need to focus on creatures who specialize in the mind and/or precognition. Although, I am more inclined to believe that I may have been hit by a wayward spell.” Chris glanced at Stiles.

Stiles sat up a little straighter. “Are you blaming me for this? Because if you are: done!” Stiles slammed his hands on the table and pushed his chair out. “Problem solved. I take full responsibility for this travesty. Now let’s put on a movie and cuddle on the couch. Please?”

Peter sauntered around the kitchen table and shoved Stiles’ chair back in. He ran a hand throw Stiles’ short spikes. “Stay.”

Stiles glowered. “Who is the one who is part canine here?”

Peter bent down and nipped Stiles ear. “Behave.”

Stiles huffed and leaned into Chris. “Hypocrite.”

“And once again, I agree with Stiles,” Chris said.

“I will bite you too, Chris, and when I bite you, it will be much harder.”

Stiles slammed his face on the table. He wrapped his arms around his head and whined. “This is so unfair. Why do you torture me so?”

“Hush.” Peter stole the book out from under Stiles, and slid the one he had been reading in its place. “Here. I am sure this one will entertain you more.”

Stiles lifted his head long enough to glare at Peter.

The room was quiet. Chris removed his hand from Stiles’ knee to place it on Stiles’ back. His hand trailed up Stiles’ spine and clamped onto the base of Stiles neck, working the muscles there. “Maybe we should look into this more later?” Chris suggested.

Peter scoffed.

“Peter,” Chris used his warning tone. “While I find my sudden knowledge of Stiles’ comings and goings disconcerting, and I also want to follow your instincts, no harm has been caused and we barely have any leads. Also, Stiles came home early for a reason.”

“Stiles loves research.”

“Stiles is in the room,” Stiles grumbled into the table.

Peter paused in his pacing. Stiles could sense the shared look Chris and Peter were having.

Suddenly Stiles’ chair was yanked back. Before Stiles could even yelp his surprise at that, two arms swooped around him and scooped him up and over Peter’s shoulder.

Stiles’ latched onto Peter’s hip for purchase as Peter carried Stiles out of the kitchen. “I love the view, but seriously! Why am I always hauled around like a sack of potatoes? Why not Chris?”

Peter paused.

Chris cursed.

“That is an excellent question, Stiles.” Peter placed Stiles back on his feet, just inside the living room, and scurried off into the kitchen.

“Peter,” Chris warned.

“Chris,” Peter purred.

Chris made a noise of protest and surprise. The next second, Peter was strolling into the living room with a red faced Chris over his shoulders.

Stiles doubled over with laughter.

Chris’ flush deepened. He closed his eyes in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I no longer had to deal with this after Stiles.”

Peter dropped Chris on the couch, and faster than Stiles’ eye could catch, Peter appeared in front do Stiles. He scooped Stiles’ up in a princess carry and hauled Stiles over to the couch.

Chris was readjusting himself when Peter plopped himself down in Chris’ lap, not bothering to let go of Stiles. Chris protested, but Peter snuggled into Chris as Stiles snickered at their antics.

Stiles threw his arms around Peter’s neck, kissing him on the forehead. “Now this is what I’m talking about!”

* * *

 

The smell of pancakes tickled Stiles’ nose, luring him into mild awareness. He was warm and smothered by Peter. Peter’s cheek was plastered to Stiles’ back, teasing Stiles’ skin with a hint of morning stubble. Peter growled and nuzzled his face into Stiles’ back. His arm on Stiles’ waist hugged Stiles tighter. “You didn’t turn off the buzzer on your phone,” Peter grumbled.

Stiles yanked Chris’ pillow off from his unoccupied side of the bed and smacked it on Peter’s head. “There. Cover your ears.”

Peter bit Stiles’ shoulder in reprimand, but sunk against Stiles.

Stiles breathed a happy sigh, snuggling into the mattress. Any moment now Chris would come up with a plate of pancakes and it would be nothing but cuddling, kisses, and delicious food.

Well, there might be something else, but Stiles was not going to engage in any “strenuous” activity until after he had his breakfast.

Peter tensed and growled again. He lifted his head, causing Chris’ pillow to fall. The next moment, Stiles felt himself being manhandled and shoved off the bed. He yelped as his ass hit the floor.

Stiles winced and rubbed his bottom. “Ow. I am so on top after this.”

“Answer your phone.” Peter jabbed his finger to the pile of clothes left over from last night. He yanked the blankets around him and cocooned himself.

Stiles grumbled and crawled to the pile. He cursed whoever would call him at this ungodly hour and destroy his perfect breakfast. He fished out his jeans and turned them over so his cell phone fell into his lap. Scott’s name lit up the screen then vanished as the call went to voicemail.

Suspicion needled at Stiles. Scott wasn’t a known morning person, and was usually pretty good about giving Stiles twenty-four hours alone with his soul mates before calling. Stiles powered up his phone to see how many times Scott had called when the phone buzzed again.

Stiles answered. “Scott?”

“Dude! Are you psychic or something?”

“Actually, I am something called a spark. You can think of it as being a warlock, wizard, or druid type of thing for now, but if you ever want to get into the details of it, I’d be happy to tell you.”

“What’s a druid?”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose and bit back a smartass comment.

“He’s your best friend and he doesn’t know what a druid is?” Peter asked.

Stiles held up his hand for silence. “Why are you calling, Scott?”

“Trisha.”

“I’m going to need more, buddy.”

“The girl from the news article you kept reading. The girl who supposedly died—she’s alive!”

Peter shoved himself onto his arms and knees, staring intently at Stiles’ phone.

Stiles turned his head away from Peter. “Scott, people say that stuff all the time after someone passes. Okay, maybe not all the time, but it’s not uncommon for people to think they see their loved ones.”

“No, Stiles! Someone got a photo of her at some party last night and posted it on their blog. Here just give me a sec…” A tapping sound came over the line as Scott fiddled with his phone. A few seconds later Stiles’ phone buzzed with a text.

Stiles opened the text to find a link to the blog. He went to the blog’s page and whistled in admiration. “Damn. Looks like a rager.” Dozens of pictures told what a wild party it had been with most of the students in attendance topless, covered in body paint, and sporting large cups of alcohol.

“Look at the seventh one down, behind the girl in the pink tube top.”

Stiles did so and squinted. He’d only seen pictures of Trisha, and the brunette girl in a tank top and jean shorts ducking out of the picture looked a little like the girl. “Is there a better photo?”

“No, but her friends swear it's her.”

Stiles bit his thumb, taking in the information. He hadn’t been lying to Scott when he said loved ones sometimes claim to see the deceased; however, Stiles had firsthand experience with the dead coming back to life.

Peter had moved from the bed and had taken to kneeling next to Stiles. Stiles leaned into Peter’s chest, searching for support as he debated how to respond to Scott. “Freaky.”

“Dude, that’s not even the half of it.”

Stiles tensed. “Scott, why do I get the feeling you should have led with what you are about to say?”

“Probably because I should have, but my literature class taught me about story progression and the importance of pacing out info—”

“Scott.”

“Right! Sorry! Anyway, people think she was haunting the party and looking for revenge or something.”

Stiles’ throat went dry. “Revenge?”

“Yeah,” Scott’s voice went somber. “Stiles, someone was killed at that party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no read, right, buddies? Hopefully, you have been keeping up to date with my ongoings on [Tumblr](http://akira-of-the-twilight.tumblr.com/). So it took several months, but here is the sequel I always wanted to write for "The Trouble with Threesomes and Supernatural Soul Mates." I hope you enjoy it just as much as me.


	2. Chapter 2

“Now see, this is something worth delaying sexy times for.” Stiles hauled an armload of shirts out of Peter and Chris’ closet and flung them into a duffle bag.

Peter snatched one of the shirts out with a scowled and folded it. “Don’t just shove it in there like you’re stuffing a turkey.”

Chris snapped shut the case for his guns. “Peter, do you still have the recipe for that potion to prevent ghost possession?”

Stiles raided Peter’s underwear drawer. “And we are back to possession. I swear I am going to develop a complex.”

Peter held up a warning finger as Stiles approached the duffle bag with an armload of underwear. “I swear if you don’t even try to fold—”

Stiles dumped the underwear in the bag.

Peter dropped the shirt he had been folding and threw his hands up. “I can’t work with this. And to answer your question, Chris: I believe we still have some left over potion from last time. Let me check.” Peter stood up and stormed out of the room.

“You could just fold them, you know,” Chris said.

Stiles shrugged. “But there are so few things that genuinely get under Peter’s skin, I have to take advantage of it when I can. Plus, it distracts me.”

Silence befell the room. Chris sat on the edge of the bed and picked up Peter’s discarded shirt, finishing the job Peter had started. “I’m sorry about your classmate.”

Stiles let out a deep breath. “Not my classmate. I’m just a little nervous about a ghost or zombie girl haunting my campus. I mean, this supernatural stuff was cool at first, but after the Alpha Pack and…” Stiles trailed off, glancing at Chris. His chest constricted at the memory of Chris’ lifeless body in his arms. He could still feel Chris’ cold, motionless lips against his as Stiles desperately tried to revive the hunter. “It’s not as cool as Buffy made it out to be, okay?”

Chris finished folding the shirt and moved onto another. “Personally, I never found Buffy’s adventures particularly light-hearted.”

Stiles snorted in amusement. “I guess they weren’t really. The characters were just really good with rolling with the punches.”

“You are too. Not everyone can handle finding out one of their soul mates is a werewolf and the other is a hunter of supernatural creatures. Also, the way you handled things with the other hunters and the Alpha Pack shows great strength.”

Stiles grinned. “I don’t know if you’re being serious or just trying to flatter me so I will help you fold.”

“Both,” Peter answered for Chris. Peter tossed a flask at Chris, and Chris caught it one-handed. “There’s more in the bags downstairs.”

“There are bags downstairs?” Stiles asked.

“Of course, I need something to carry the books in.”

“This is why ebooks are taking over. So much more convenient.”

“You scour the Internet; I will sift through pages on the dark arts.”

“So you’ll look through the Internet,” Stiles deadpanned.

Chris bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing, but that didn’t stop the snort that escaped him.

* * *

 “Everyone better be dressed!” Stiles hollered as he threw open the door to his rental home.

Kira’s head popped out from around the sofa. “Stiles? I thought you went—” She cut herself off when she saw Chris and Peter enter with bags of books and a duffle.

“Hello.” Chris nodded in greeting and headed for Stiles’ room to drop off the duffle then retrieve his gun case from the car.

“You need to work on your hair,” Peter said as he followed Chris.

Kira self-consciously clutched her loose braid and ran her fingers over it.

“Ignore him.” Stiles rested his arm on the back of the sofa and peered over it. A large textbook covered Kira’s lap and papers were spread around her. “Peter just likes being an ass.”

“I’m aware.” Kira’s forehead scrunched. “So I’m confused. I thought they came over last weekend, and you also left yesterday to visit them, so why are you here?”

“Peter and I share an interest in the occult, and when we heard about some dead girl seeking revenge on unsuspecting college students we decided to switch it up this weekend. Chris is just chaperoning.”

“As always,” Chris said drily as he crossed the room and went outside.

“Poor, Chris,” Kira said.

Stiles feigned offense. “Excuse you. I’ll have you know Peter and I are very good about rewarding him for being the designated adult in our trio. Your sympathies are completely unfounded.”

Chris reentered the room.

Kira craned her head around the couch. “Chris, I’m sorry for what you go through.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey!” Stiles swatted Kira’s braid.

“So are you really back to investigate the death?” Kira’s nose wrinkled with distaste.

Shame crawled inside Stiles’ gut. “It’s not like I’m desecrating the guy’s grave.”

Kira didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Her posture and expression gave away her disapproval.

Stiles sighed, knowing there was no way he was going to win over Kira in the argument that was to come if he pushed things. “C’mon, Chris, let’s go check on Peter. Hopefully he is not rearranging my furniture…again.”

Peter wasn’t rearranging the furniture, but Stiles noted that he could see more of his floor and that his laundry basket was looking suspiciously full. Peter had also cleared off Stiles’ desk and piled his books on top of it. He had three books flipped open with bookmarks between the pages.

Peter had spent most of the car ride reading his books, while Stiles took advantage of being a passenger and had used his phone to research the murder case. “So find anything good?”

“Depends on your definition of good.” Peter ran his finger over one of the pages. “You have your classic ghost haunting.” Peter moved his finger to a different page. “You also have a plethora of undead creatures such as vampires, ghouls, and zombies.”

“Unless vampires have suddenly taken to drowning their victims, it’s not a vampire.” Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the news article he’d found. “Jeremy was found dead in a pool. No external wounds either, so ghouls and zombies are out too.”

Chris unzipped the duffle bag and brought out a stack of pants. “Have either of you looked into shape-shifters?”

Stiles shook his head.

Peter tilted his head and pulled out one of the unopened books. “I’ve looked into a few—Kanima being one of them, but there aren’t many known for drowning their victims.”

“Kanima are creatures of revenge though,” Stiles pointed out. “And revenge is a highly plausible motive.”

“But they only have one human shape,” Peter countered.

“An illusion?” Stiles suggested, pulling up webpages on shape-shifters and Kanima.

Peter shook his head. “An illusion wouldn’t show on camera.”

“You sure?” Stiles questioned.

Peter mulled it over. “I suppose if someone were powerful enough and had the inclination then it would be possible, but what reason would there be for our murderer to make it so? If anything our murderer would not want draw suspicion to themselves.”

“Unless it is a trap,” Stiles pointed out.

“Which would mean we walked right into it,” Chris added. “Although, I doubt such a trap was set specifically for us.”

“Then who?”

“Probably hunters or other magic users,” Chris said.

“Great,” sarcasm saturated Stiles’ tone. “Two out of three of our group.” Stiles stopped typing on his phone and took a deep breath. He flopped on the bed next to Chris then crawled until he rested his head in the man’s lap. “Based on social media though, I’d bet on straight up revenge.” Stiles held up his phone and tapped on the screen until he pulled up the Trisha’s social media page.

Chris took the phone and scrolled through page, his expression growing grimmer with each swipe of his thumb. He scowled and finally put the phone down.

Curious, Peter scooped up the phone and looked through it. His eyebrows rose to his hairline with each second before he returned the phone to Stiles. “Well, there is certainly cause for revenge by the looks of it.”

Stiles nodded. Trisha’s social media page had been flood with images of drunk and passed out with guys and even a girl or two groping her unconscious body or striking lewd poses with her. There was only one of Jeremy, but it spoke volumes. Trisha was slumped against him, her head rolled onto his shoulder, as he wrapped an arm around her waist with the intent to drag her off somewhere.

Stiles stomach roiled as he once again looked through the photos and comments that were barely a few days old. How anyone could post those pictures in general made Stiles sick, but knowing that someone had done it after Trisha’s death just made something break in Stiles.

He tried not to think about the fact that pictures were probably from the same party where Trisha had died. If he did, he might just—

A light bulb shattered.

Stiles flinched, and Chris threw a protective arm over Stiles.

Peter sneered at the broken bulb and bent down to pick up the pieces. He flicked the shards of glass into the trashcan with such precision that Stiles bit back his reprimand for Peter’s poor glass handling.

“We’re going to need more information.” Chris ran hand through Stiles’ spikes. “Peter and I will see what we can find at the local precinct.”

“What about me?” Stiles asked, pushing himself up and out of Chris’ lap.

“See if you can scope out Jeremy and Trisha’s rooms. Talk to their roommates. Maybe something was occurring before either died that we are unaware of.”

“We should do a quick spell beforehand though.” Peter rose to his feet and stretched, having successfully cleared the floor of any broken glass. “There is an old witch’s trick to check if anyone has recently preformed any strong spells in the vicinity.”

“Scott’s going to kill us for stinking up the kitchen again, isn’t he?” Stiles grumbled as he stood up, leading Peter to the kitchen were he kept some of his more innocuous magical supplies.

“It will be a sad day when Scott McCall kills me,” Peter answered.

“Why is Scott killing Peter?” Kira hollered from the couch.

“Because we’re going to make this kitchen smell rank.” Stiles threw open the cupboards and yanked out a pot, which Peter took from him and put back. Peter then went to another cabinet and pulled out a large salad bowl. He placed it on the counter and moved about the kitchen like he owned it. “You really have spent too much time in my kitchen.”

“Did you move the Jasmine again?” Peter frowned at the spice rack.

“Kira!” Stiles hollered.

“I think Scott left it by the flour,” she shouted back.

Stiles retrieved the herb. “Thanks.”

In a minute, Peter had everything ready and was walking Stiles through the divination spell. The bowl had been filled almost to the brim with water. Flakes of herbs had danced on the surface or settled on the bottom. Stiles dipped his fingers into the bowl and gently stirred the mixture. He focused on his desire to learn if any strong magic had been used to kill Jeremy.

Black swirled out of Stiles’ fingertips, tainting the water.

Stiles’ hand froze in the water.

Black meant magic.

* * *

“As you can see, the boy clearly drowned,” the coroner said, her demeanor radiating suspicion as she gesture to the cadaver of Jeremy.

Peter took a whiff of the air. Rot, decay, and the faint smell of bowels having been emptied barraged Peter’s nostrils. He maintained his poker face as he glanced at Chris. All it took was a shared look, and Peter was able to convey that the only thing foul he smelled on the boy was death.

“And why would a young man drown in pool that would barely reach his neck?” Chris said to the coroner, ignoring her hostile air.

Peter had joined Chris on enough hunts over the years to recognize in a heartbeat the signs of a disgruntled worker who felt someone was threatening their territory. It almost always happened whenever Chris pulled out a fake I.D. that would give him authority on a police case. Today it was the classic FBI badge that had allowed Chris into the coroner’s office.

“There are many reasons why a young man might drown himself. The most glaring being depression.”

Chris held up a folder he’d received from the head investigator on the case. “The reports indicated no past history of depression.”

“Just because there is no history of depression does not mean he couldn’t have suffered from it recently.”

“Interesting suggestion, doctor,” Peter commanded with a smooth voice that promised retribution if not obeyed. “My partner and I will take it under consideration. Now, if you’ll excuse us. This is a private investigation.”

There was a tick in the woman’s cheek at Peter’s dismissal, but with just a few parting words, she turned and marched out the door with her head held high.

“You always manage to piss of at least one person,” Chris muttered once the woman was gone. He grabbed a pair of rubber gloves off the medical tray nearby.

Peter waved off the comment. “She was already angry.”

“Didn’t have to make it worse.” Chris opened Jeremy’s mouth and shined a small flashlight inside. He lifted the boy’s eyelids and did the same.

Peter watched Chris. Normally, he’d add commentary as Chris worked, but his mind was too busy puzzling out a number of things to focus on engaging Chris.

It was like there was a rash under his skin. Half of him was concerned for Stiles’ safety and the desire to destroy whatever was afoot at the college. The other half of him was on a constant mental loop, wondering and theorizing about Chris’ moment of clairvoyance. He knew the latter was not important, and normally he would think such worries about the matter were unfounded and ridiculous, but he couldn’t ignore the intrinsic part of him that told him something was wrong. It felt as factual to him as the truth that the earth circled the sun.

“Are you all right?” Chris lifted one of Jeremy’s arms, running his fingers clinically over the flesh.

“Irritated.”

Chris paused, taken aback by Peter’s honesty. He soon returned to examining the corpse. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

“I could guess.”

“You could.”

Chris switched to studying the other arm. “Does it have to do with why we’re here?”

Peter strolled over to the head of the corpse. He barely glimpsed at the face, caring very little about Jeremy.

Chris hummed. “Are you still thinking about what happened yesterday?”

Peter glance at Chris, and Chris caught his gaze. In that second, Peter knew he’d revealed himself to Chris.

“You know, it could be nothing, or maybe it's a side effect of having supernatural soul mates? Stiles is a spark. Perhaps that creates a bond that allows us to sense each other?”

“An interesting theory, but just a theory. A poor one too. I won’t deny that perhaps when the supernatural gets involved something as ridiculous as soul bonds could occur; however, even if such were the case, _you_ should not be exhibiting symptoms first. If Stiles being a spark caused a magical bond then _he_ should experience it first, if not _only_ him. I am still skeptical that it would affect you at all if such a bond were caused by his magic.”

Chris didn’t argue with Peter, he just moved on to scrutinizing another part of the body.

The silence told Peter what Chris was thinking. Chris was just as curious as Peter as about the other day’s event, but their investigation into the deaths of Jeremy and Trisha took priority. For now they had to focus on the immediate danger.

“Also, if it were a magical bond created by Stiles, don’t you think I would have sensed his arrival too? If anything, I should have sensed it before you since I am more magically inclined.”

Chris lifted his head, brow pinched in concentration. There was a flash of realization in Chris’ eyes followed by an even quicker flicker of pity that Chris hid away. He knew how Peter felt about pity. “People have studied magic for thousands of years, Peter, and there are still so many questions about it. I wouldn’t concern myself about who Stiles would connect to magically first if I were you.”

Peter grimaced, picking up what Chris was implying. He burned with self-loathing for having revealed himself too much and because he knew that there was more than just concern over Chris’ welfare that was plaguing him.

He was jealous.

Peter had considered the option of a soul bond generated by Stiles’ magic long before Chris had brought it up, and it rankled him to no end that if such a thing was possible, then his two mates were sharing something so deep and intimate without him.

If this was what Stiles had felt when he’d learned Chris and Peter had been dating long before Stiles had met them, then Peter owed Stiles far more comfort than he had given.

Chris finished with the cadaver. A frown wrinkled his face. He hadn’t found any clues.

Peter grinned. “So how do you think Ms. Coroner will respond when we ask for Trisha’s body next?”

* * *

“You can still sense the bad mojo,” Jeremy’s housemate Steven said with a shudder as he looked out the backdoor of the house. The pool outside had been drained and still had bits of police tape fencing it off.

Stiles sniffled and blinked away the tears in his eyes. He’d put way too many artificial tears in his eyes before jumping out of his Jeep and heading towards Jeremy’s house. The tears had irritated his eyes and now he couldn’t stop crying, even after he convinced Steven that he was a classmate of Jeremy’s.

Steven shook himself out of his reverie. “You said he borrowed your comics, right?”

Stiles nodded. “Sorry, I know it’s a bad time, but when his parents arrive they’re not going to know who borrowed them and—”

Steven held up a hand to silence Stiles. “It’s cool man. I know it’s sucky. God, there’s some of my things in his room too and I can’t even get up the nerve to go inside and get them.” Steven lowered his head. “He’s got my best bong, man. Looks like it comes straight out of those wonderland books.”

 _You mean a hookah?_ Stiles wanted to ask, but kept his mouth shut as Steven led him upstairs and to Jeremy’s room.

Steven held the door open for Stiles and waved him in.

Stiles was internally conflicted. Steven seemed nice, but Steven had also been one of the guys featured in the pictures with Trisha’s unconscious body. As friendly as the guy was he had no respect for women and no understanding of consent and the necessity of it.

Stiles searched Jeremy’s room, trying to be as casual about it as possible since Steven stood just outside the door.

“If you see the bong could you grab it for me?” Steven asked.

Stiles plucked a shirt from off the floor and unveiled the hookah. The hookah was covered in something white and sticky. Stiles scrunched his nose and kicked the hookah under the bed. “Sure.”

He ran his fingers over the windowsill, searching for sulfur or a tiny hex pouch. Hex pouches were pouches created by those with magic to put a hex on someone. They were usually left in rooms the intended victim frequented, but not always.

In his search, Stiles found nothing except a few Spider Man comics he didn’t own. He decided to claim them as his. Stealing from the dead may not be the classiest thing, but it wasn’t as if Jeremy was going to be reading them any time soon. Plus, it collaborated his cover.

“No hookah, but I found my comics.” Stiles held up his prize.

Steven cursed his luck then led Stiles back downstairs. “Well, at least you found what you were looking for.” He started heading toward the front door when Stiles stopped him with a question.

“Hey, I know this is going to sound terrible, but…” Stiles trailed off, trying to make it sound like he really didn’t want to ask what he was about to. “Would you mind if I took a look out back?” He ducked his head between his shoulders. “I know! I know! Crazy, right? Just… it doesn’t feel real to me, and I just keep thinking maybe if I see it—really see it—up close, it might…I don’t know, give me closure?”

Steven nodded sympathetically and changed course towards the backyard. “When my dog got run over by a car I spent the first week going outside every few hours just to stare at the spot where he got hit.”

Stiles had to bite his lower lip to keep himself from making a smartass comment about equating a housemate to a pet.

Steven unlocked the back door and yanked it open for Stiles. Stiles was caught off guard when Steven followed him outside. Steven sucked in a deep breath and blinked as tears formed the corner of his eyes. He rubbed away the tears furiously.

Stiles didn’t comment on the emotional display and skirted the edges of the pool. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Ignoring the police tape, the pool was innocuous, but Stiles couldn’t rid himself of the voice in his head that reminded him someone had died in it. It shouldn’t have mattered, but being so close to death filled his brain with images of Chris bleeding on the ground.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“Crazy, right?” Steven whispered.

Stiles nodded, circling away from the pool. He couldn’t scour the backyard like he wanted to with Steven present so he relied on a quick scan of the surroundings.

A brown cloth bag in the rose bushes caught Stiles’ eye.

“Did you lose some of your stash?” Stiles asked as he wandered up to the rosebush. He reached down to pluck the bag when Steven gasped.

Steven gaped at the side yard where a girl in a blue hoodie leaned against the corner of the house. She pushed down her hood. It was Trisha, her face flushed with life and health.

She twirled on heel and ran for the side exit.

“You saw her too, right?” Steven shouted and gave chase, not waiting for Stiles.

Stiles squawked in surprise. He shoved the brown bag in his pocket and took off after Steven.

Steven bolted out the side door and was halfway down the driveway when Stiles caught up.

Trisha dashed across the street.

Steven rushed after her as a truck barreled down the street.

“Steven!” Stiles shouted and launched himself at the boy, knocking Steven flat on his face and centimeters away from the street.

The truck roared past, leaving Stiles and Steven in its exhaust fumes.

Stiles coughed as he sat up and straddled Steven. “What the hell is wrong with you? Didn’t you see the truck?”

“Truck?” Steven blinked. His eyes were dilated like he was in the middle of a drug trip. “What truck?” He wiggled under Stiles. “Trisha? Where’d she go?” He craned his neck to look across the street.

Stile looked too, but the street was empty of anyone else other than the two of them.

* * *

“She was flesh and blood! Whatever she is, it’s not a ghost, ghoul, or zombie!” Stiles paced up and down the kitchen, gesticulating wildly. “So what the hell is she!”

“That’s what today’s investigation was about,” Chris said calmly at the coffee table as he watched Peter pick apart the bag Stiles had found in Steven’s backyard. So far Peter and Stiles had confirmed the bag was a hex bag, but they were still trying to figure out what kind of hex they were dealing with.

“I know!” Stiles threw up his hands.

A second later Stiles took a deep breath and sat across from Peter at the coffee table. He picked up a tiny bone and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “Sorry. I don’t like not knowing.”

Chris nodded in acknowledgement. He slid his leg across the floor, linking his ankle with Stiles’. “Understandable.”

Stiles grumbled and lay his arms on the table then rested his head on aforementioned limbs. He watched as Peter bounced back and forth between two tomes and his laptop for references. “They really burned Trisha’s body already?”

Chris nodded.

“But they should still be working on the toxicology report. Even is the police already found a few drugs, they still have a lot more tests they are required to perform,” Stiles said.

“Which is why we suspect our magic user is at play here,” Peter said.

Stiles groaned. “Great.”

Chris mouth was a thin line as he pondered. “I’m starting to think we may need back up.”

Peter scoffed. “You’re not calling any hunters, and I am not calling up any wolves, so that option is out.”

“We have other ties.”

Peter glared at Chris.

Chris sighed and slouched against the couch. “Fine, be the alpha. However, if things get any more dangerous don’t think I won’t call for back up.”

“You may call for references.”

The front door slammed open and shut.

Scott wandered into the living room and stared at the trio for a solid second before he pouted. “Stiles,” he whined. “This was supposed to by Kira’s and my weekend! What are Peter and Chris doing here?”

“The three of us are in agreement that we need a fourth member in our relationship and that the fourth should be someone Stiles’ age.” Peter flashed Scott a grin. “Want to be our fourth?”

Scott shuddered. “Not if you’re a part of it.”

Stiles kicked Peter under the coffee table.

Peter feigned innocence.

“Stop messing with Scott,” Stiles whispered so only Peter could hear.

“I feel I should be flattered that you didn’t exclude me,” Chris said, trying to break the tension.

Scott strolled into the living room, shrugging at Chris. “You’re cool. A little old and too male for my tastes, but I like you.” Scott frowned at the bones, crushed flowers, ash, and stones on the table. “What are you three doing?”

“Practicing witchcraft,” Stiles answered.

Scott huffed. “Funny. No really, what is it?”

“Really we found a hex bag and we are trying to decipher what kind of hex it is.”

Scott’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“For a class?”

“You could say that.”

Scott shook his head. “Whatever. Just be out of the living room in the next hour. I want to surprise Kira with a special movie.”

“Porn?” Stiles asked.

Scott picked up a sofa cushion and threw it at Stiles’ head. “No, you dork.” He laughed to himself as he sauntered out of the room.

“I’m surprised you haven’t told him yet.” Peter flipped a page in one of his books, picked up a bone, and placed it on the page.

“It’s not my place. Plus, it’s not like I’m being entirely untruthful. How many times has he come into the kitchen when we’re brewing something, and I tell him we’re making potions or working on a spell of some sort?”

“Sometimes the easiest secret to keep is the one you tell everyone,” Chris said.

“Ah-ha!” Peter sat up straighter. “Fixation.”

Stiles frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Peter rolled his eyes and held up one of the books. “The hex causes its victims to fixate on an object or person until they die. For example, this Steven fellow fixated on Trisha and almost ran into the middle of the road and died.”

Stiles leaned across the table, skimming the page. “Looks like it could also cause someone to stand in the middle of a pool and drown themselves.”

“Except in this case the pool was too shallow; if he fixated on someone or something in the pool and dove in after them or the object and he didn’t resurface in time, that would kill him.”

“So we have someone who can perform hexes targeting these young men. This same person may be responsible for Trisha’s body supposedly being cremated prematurely. In addition, assuming our magic user isn’t Trisha or impersonating her, we also have the real Trisha wandering around and undead,” Chris said.

“Assuming undead girl isn’t a shape shifter or something else too,” Stiles pointed out.

“Sounds to me like we have at least two people involved in what’s going on here. A magic user and Trisha,” Chris stated.

“Unless Trisha is a witch and had a contingency plan for her death that would bring her back to life, and now she seeks revenge,” Peter pointed out. “However, such spells are time consuming and very delicate. While it is possible, I am much more inclined to believe there are at least two parties involved.”

Stiles bit the tip of his thumb, his thoughts whirling. An idea gnawed at him, but it wasn’t fully formed. The answer to what was going on here felt so obvious to him, like it was right in front of him, but for some reason he was as oblivious to it as Scott was to Stiles’ magic.

A magic user and a supposedly undead girl. It reminded Stiles of him and Chris. It reminded him of—

Stiles jumped up and hit his knee on the table. “Holy shit!”

Chris and Peter gave him puzzled and concerned looks.

Stiles slammed his palms on the table. “We’re dealing with a necromancer!”


	3. Chapter 3

“We need help,” Chris argued.

Peter scowled, arms folded across his chest. “A necromancer is just a glorified witch that specializes in the dead. I can kill him or her just as easily as any other witch. I won’t even need my claws to do it, just my teeth.”

Stiles pulled a face. “You’re not kissing me until you brush your teeth at least ten times afterwards. I do not need to the taste of witch blood and jugular in my mouth.”

Chris and Peter hit Stiles with deadpan stares and dove back into arguing.

Stiles internally groaned at his two soul mates. This had been going on for fifteen minutes already and it was giving him a serious headache. He reached across the coffee table and grabbed Peter’s laptop. He pulled up a search engine and scoured websites on necromancy.

It was intriguing to note that while many media portrayed necromancers as evil beings summoning the dead to do their bidding a lot of the information that came up first on necromancers pointed out that early necromancy had more to do with communicating with the dead. It even linked necromancy to shamanism, which was interesting in it of itself. It was also tied to prophecy and showed up in many cultures.

“Cool,” Stiles whispered.

Peter snapped his head in Stiles’ direction.

Stiles spun the computer around to show Peter what he had found. “I never thought about contacting the dead for divination purposes, which now that that I think about, seems so obvious and smart. Think about it! These dead people obviously have different perspectives that can help them gather information we can’t.”

“Yes, well…” Peter slammed shut the laptop. “That’s how necromancy is done in what is considered its purer form. We are dealing with someone who has decided to go the less pure route with their talents.”

Stiles pursed his lips, disappointed despite knowing whoever they were dealing was not someone with good intentions. Although, if Stiles were being honest, if the person responsible for what happened to Jeremy (and almost Steven as well) killed him out of some sense of justice for Trisha, Stiles struggled to fully blame the vigilante.

Jeremy, Steven, and whoever else was involved in what happened that night to Trisha deserved punishment. The only thing that stopped Stiles from ignoring what had happened and writing it off as justice was because the punishment went too far and didn’t actually do anything to right the wrong. Yes, Jeremy was dead, but so was Trisha. Even if the necromancer managed to kill off everyone who had wronged Trisha, how many of them would know that they were killed because of that? Who alive would know the reason behind their deaths? If anything, the perpetrators would all look like innocent victims of a serial murder or something along those lines.

No, killing Jeremy and the others did nothing to right the wrong done to Trisha and others before her. All it did was add more dead bodies.

Peter cocked his head at Stiles, taking on a thoughtful visage as he studied Stiles.

Chris’ brow furrowed as he watched the interaction between his two partners.

Finally, Peter looked away from Stiles. “I suppose when we’ve taken care of this matter, I can show you the books I have on necromancy. The information I have is limited.”

Chris scowled. “You are not teaching him necromancy.”

Peter jabbed a finger in Chris’ chest and held it there. “Darling, I would like to point out that Stiles here has already committed an act of necromancy. In fact, he may be drawn to it because that may be his destined area of expertise.”

Chris knocked Peter’s hand away. He opened his mouth to protest then shut it, biting his bottom lip so hard Stiles expected it to bleed. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly. “You know that’s different. I didn’t come back a zombie, or—”

“Stiles,” Peter cut in smoothly. “Would you say Trisha looked like a zombie?”

“No, but—”

“My point has been made,” Peter stated.

“Psst,” Scotted hissed from the hallway leading into the living room. “C’mon guys. It’s almost seven. Can’t you have your spat in the privacy of Stiles’ bedroom?”

Chris and Stiles jerked at Scott’s sudden appearance, but Peter remained unflinching, having heard Scott’s approach.

“Right.” Stiles scratched the back of his neck then gathered up the books and laptop into a pile. “Just give us a couple more minutes to clear out.”

“All right.” Scott nodded and vanished into the hallway.

Stiles scooped up the books and computer into his arm. “Listen, I’m not going to say whether I will learn necromancy one way or the other, but I will say this.” Stiles glared at Peter and Chris. “It is my decision to make, and while both of you are free to share your opinions on the matter keep in mind that _I_ get the final say, not you two.”

Chris had the decency to look chastised while Peter smirked like he had planned on Stiles to less than subtly tell them off for trying to control his life. Peter and Chris were very good about treating him like an equal, but every now and then one of them would slip up and treat him more like a child than a partner.

Stiles strolled into his bedroom, dropping the books and tech on his bed. “So how do you hunt a necromancer?”

“A combination of sleuthing, stake outs, and keeping an eye out for anything that may indicate the necromancer's presence.” Chris plopped on the bed. He grabbed Stiles wrist and rubbed his thumb over the soul mark there. The movement was both apologetic and comforting, and Stiles couldn’t help but join Chris on the mattress and snuggle up to the man’s side. “If you know of any places that cater to new age religions or even just an herb shop in town I can visit those tomorrow and see if I can get a backlog on their customers. From there we compare the list against people who know Trisha or may have been at the party.”

Stiles nodded.

Peter locked the bedroom door and flopped on the bed (somehow still managing to do it gracefully, the smug bastard) behind Chris and Stiles. He maneuvered himself so his upper body wedged itself between the two. “You didn’t have the chance to check out the roommate, did you?”

Stiles shook his head. “After talking down Steven and then having my own freak out, there just wasn’t time.”

A pleased rumbling sound escaped Peter. “Good. I will accompany you tomorrow.”

Stiles snorted. “No offense, Peter, but even if you are my soul mate, a lot of people are going to find your presence very suspicious.”

Peter grinned wickedly. “Now who said anything about me going as your soul mate?”

Stiles scrunched his nose and opened his mouth when Peter’s formed flickered and shifted into that of a large, black wolf.

Peter wagged his tail.

Stiles grimaced and shoved Peter towards the edge of the bed. “Dude, ew! Dog hair! I just cleaned these sheets.”

“No, you didn’t,” Chris deadpanned.

Stiles pouted. “I could have.”

“But you didn’t,” Chris said.

Stiles cursed. Why did he get stuck with the perceptive soul mates?

* * *

“I wouldn’t do that,” Stiles warned as he grabbed the girl’s wrist before she could pet Peter. She was the fourth person to try and pet Peter on his way to Trisha’s dorm room. The first person had nearly gotten their had bit off, and despite Stiles' scolding afterward, Peter had lunged at person number two as well. He had refused to take the risk with persons three and four and now person five. “Sorry, he bites.” Stiles dropped the girl’s wrist.

The girl looked forlornly at Peter. “Really? I just figured since you didn’t have him leashed…” Her eyes lit up with realization and suddenly any countenance of sorrow was replaced by one of fury and indignation. She stomped her foot and pointed accusingly at Stiles. “What are you doing walking him without a leash then? I mean, a lack of leash is bad enough, in general, but when you know your dog bites people that is just fucking irresponsible!”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and flushed with embarrassment. He would have said the exact same thing to himself if he were in the girl’s position. “He doesn’t bite unless a stranger tries to pet him,” he tried, but his tone gave away his lack of confidence in the excuse.

The girl huffed, unintentionally blowing bangs out of her face. “And what if he runs off, and don’t give me crap about how he never does that. Jesus Christ! All it takes is startling him and he's off!”

Stiles winced. “Uh, well, he just needed to go pee, and my dorm is right there.” He pointed at Trisha’s dorm.

“Your dorm?!” The girl exclaimed. “Fuck that noise! Everyone knows you can’t keep a dog in a dorm.”

“I’m excused!” Stiles blurted out, mouth racing faster than his brain. Once his brain caught up though Stiles purposefully began to quake. “I have—I have really bad anxiety disorder, and—and…”

The girl paled considerable. “Oh! Oh…” She held up her hands in a defenseless gesture. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

Stiles dropped into a crouch and buried his face in Peter’s neck. He gasped for breath.

“Oh god! Oh god! I’m so sorry! Do you need me to call the hospital? Oh god, let me call campus security. Jesus, I’m sorry!”

“It’s—It’s okay,” Stiles said. “Just…leave me alone with Peter.” He stroked Peter’s fur, earning a comforting rumble from his boyfriend. “I just need a moment alone.”

The girl nodded her head rapidly and took a step back. “I’ll check on you in five minutes, okay? Is there anything I can get you, anything at all? There’s chocolate in the commons, do you want that?”

Stiles shook his head.

The girl took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I’ll just go.” She backed away from Stiles a bit more before she turned around and all but sprinted to the dorm next door to the one Stiles wanted in to.

Stiles lifted his head from Peter’s neck. “I am going to Hell for that, aren’t I?”

Peter barked.

Stiles ruffled Peter’s fur. “But you’ll go with me too, right?” he cooed. “Who’s considered a abomination by most major religions? You are. Yes, you.”

Peter nipped Stiles’ nose.

Stiles swatted Peter on the snout. “All right, so my jokes are extra insensitive today, no need to bite my nose off. Besides, I don’t consider you an abomination…most days.”

Peter growled.

“I love you too, Peter.” Stiles kissed Peter’s muzzle then stood. He headed over to Trisha’s dorm, Peter padding next to him. He’d chosen to go around to the back of the building. Since he lived off campus he didn’t know the insides of the dorms very well, but one thing he had picked up through parties and study groups was that the back doors to most dorms were located very close to the actual rooms.

Stiles' theory proved correct when he reached the see through door of the dorm and saw an entire hallway of bedrooms. Stiles pounded on the door until a guy in an ACDC shirt stumbled out of a room and propped open the back door. He glared groggily at Stiles.

Stiles smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, man, I lost my keys, and my roommate ain’t answering his phone.”

The guy snorted and glanced down at Peter. “No pets allowed.”

“It’s my girlfriend’s. Lives off campus. Just took it to the vet for her since she’s stuck in one of those three-hour classes. Just don’t tell the RA.”

“Fine, but if you get caught don’t tell them I let you in.” The guy stood aside.

Stiles took a moment to enjoy the fact that he lived off campus since dorm security was utterly appalling. Peter also seemed disturbed by the lack of security if the way he wiggled his nose was anything to go by.

Stiles thanked the guy who let him in and then headed for the stairwell. From what he’d gathered through hacking and Internet stalking, Trisha lived in room 222 with her roommate Erin.

He was halfway up the steps when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Stiles fished out his phone and beamed at the message from Chris. “Looks like Chris got a list from that new age place near the supermarket.”

Peter headbutted Stiles’ hip.

Stiles typed a response to Chris. “I hope that means you’re happy and therefore have decided to stop biting off people’s hands. I get that it’s your personal space, but they don’t know any better—although really they should. C’mon, everyone knows you don’t pet a strange dog without asking the owner first if it’s okay. Anyway, point is I am so tired of you trying to bite everyone. I’m going to—Hey!” Stiles jumped away from Peter when Peter lightly nipped his leg.

It was just Stiles' luck that his foot missed and he almost fell down the stairwell. The only things that saved him was the handrail and the fact that Peter lunged and grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull him back up.

Peter dropped Stiles shirt and nuzzled his snout into Stiles’ neck.

Stiles cupped Peter’s head and scratched the back of one of his ears. “Jerk.”

Peter turned his head and pressed his nose to Stiles.

Stiles cursed and shoved Peter away. “Damn it. I hate it when you play cute. It’s unfair. You’re never cute when you’re human.” He stormed the rest of the way up the stairwell, hands shoved in his pockets. He held the door open for Peter with his foot when he exited the stairwell. Peter happily sauntered past him, a knowing and pleased look in his canine eyes.

He grumbled as he trudged down the hall and stopped at 222. Anime screencaps decked the door. He knocked.

No one answered.

Stiles tried knocking one more time.

When no one answered for a second time, Stiles cheeks pulled upward in a grin. He reached for the doorknob, fingers tingling with magic as he focused on undoing any locks on the door.

Peter growled.

Stiles hesitated, which saved him from having to explain himself when the door was swung open by a girl in glasses and a bleached topknot on her head. Only a few seconds passed between them but in that time Stiles must have done something or radiated some kind of negative energy because the girl was immediately suspicious. “Can I help you?”

“Erin, right?” Stiles asked.

Erin nodded, still wary.

“I wanted to give you my condolences. Trisha was a sweet girl and—”

“What did she talk about most?” Erin spat out.

Stiles was startled out of talking. He licked his lips and tried again. “Uh, we really only talked about what went on in class.”

“Which class?”

 _Well, crap_ , Stiles thought.

Erin scowled. “You’re just like all the rest who come here just to see where the dead girl lived. Probably an ambulance chaser too.” She slammed the door in Stiles’ face.

Stiles looked down at Peter. “Well, that could have gone better. I knew I should have brought the fake tears. They just irritate my eyes something fierce.” Stiles turned to go, but Peter didn’t follow. Stiles frowned. “C’mon, Peter, we need to think up a new strategy.”

Peter ignored him, sniffing the air like he was tracking a scent.

That’s when it hit Stiles; Peter probably was tracking a scent, or at least getting one so he could track it. Trisha had lived in that dorm room for months now. Even if she hadn’t been inside it for a while, her smell should still be so embedded in the walls that Peter could get a faint trace. With that scent he could find zombie Trisha or whatever Trisha was.

When Peter finished catching the scent he sauntered up to Stiles' side and bumped the back of Stiles' knee. Stiles nodded and headed for the stairs, once again holding the door open for Peter so the wolf could go in and out easily.

They were halfway down the stairs when Peter stopped and tensed.

Stiles paused mid-step. “What’s up?”

Peter dashed down the stairs, ramming the door at the bottom of the stairwell open with his head.

Stiles squeaked and chased after his boyfriend, catching up with Peter in time to see Peter stand on his hind legs and push the backdoor open.

“Peter!” Stiles shouted.

It was too late though. By the time Stiles got outside, Peter had taken off towards the dorm the righteous girl from earlier had retreated to.

“Damn it.” Stiles moved to sprint, but stopped as his ears caught the sound of something in the distance.

Stiles frowned, listening more intently. The sound was faint, and if he hadn’t spent a good chunk of his life hearing police sirens he probably would have needed to wait a few more seconds to recognize the wail for what it was. Twenty seconds later an ambulance and a police car pulled up in the student parking lot.

Stiles swallowed hard as he watched the men and women in the vehicles jump out and race off in the same direction Peter had gone.

Students were peeking their heads out of their windows and a few had stopped on the sidewalk to watch the proceedings.

 _Go_ , Stiles' brain urged him. _Follow the police. If this has anything to do with Trisha and the others then you need to get close to the crime scene. Investigate._

Stiles' hands trembled at his side. He cussed and brought his hands to his mouth.

His eyes were watering and all he could see was Chris’ corpse lying on the ground, surrounded by a crimson halo.

“Stiles!”

Stiles snapped out of his trance, but could not bring himself to look in the direction of the voice—Chris’ voice. If Chris wasn’t there when he turned around, Stiles didn’t know what he would do.

“Stiles!” Chris hollered again, closer this time.

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath and summoned all of his courage to turn around.

Chris was striding toward him, worry wrinkling his features even as he gaze constantly roved the campus for threats.

Stiles didn’t think; he just ran toward Chris and threw his arms around his soul mate.

Chris grunted at the hard impact, but returned the embrace. “What’s wrong, Stiles? Where’s Peter?”

Stiles squeezed Chris tighter. “I think he caught Trisha’s scent. I think she struck again while we were investigating.” Stiles was still shaking. Stiles bit his cheek and internally reprimanded himself. “Damn it.” He buried his face in Chris’ shoulder. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stop quaking?”

Chris slid one of his hands up Stiles’ back and clutched the back of Stiles' head with it. He shushed Stiles and rested his chin on top of Stiles’ head. “It’s okay. This is a stressful situation.”

“Not as stressful as the Alpha Pack kidnapping me or them torturing you,” Stiles refuted.

Chris pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “Stiles, take it from someone who has spent most of his life hunting supernatural creatures; the stress hits you when you least expect it.”

“I hate it.” Stiles clutched the back of Chris’ shirt. If he had Peter’s claws he’d be ripping the garment to shreds.

Chris didn’t argue with Stiles. He just held him, running his hand up and down Stiles' back and pressing the occasional kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

“You should check out the crime scene,” Stiles said even as his chest constricted in protest.

“Not now,” Chris said.

Stiles closed his eyes and breathed in the musky and gunpowder scent of Chris. His muscles went lax, and for one moment he was able to shut down his brain.

His relaxation ended however when a curious voice in his head wondered how Chris had known where Stiles was.

Stiles jerked his head back and stared wide eyed at Chris. “You did it again.”

Chris frowned, not understanding.

“You knew where I was even though I didn’t tell you.”

Chris blinked a few times. Soon his eyes were just as wide as Stiles’. “Not just the location. I knew you were in distress.”

Stiles’ heart twisted and somersaulted. Stiles’ didn’t know how to react to the information, so he followed his instincts and collapsed against Chris again. “Love you.”

Chris squeezed him tighter and touched his forehead to Stiles’. “Love you too.”

There was a bark right before Stiles felt two paws on his back and a snout pressing a cold nose to his neck.

Stiles squealed and pressed closer to Chris, climbing Chris' body like a monkey and forcing Chris to grab Stiles' thighs and hold Stiles up.

Stiles glared down at Peter, who even in his wolf form managed to look smug.

“Well, you’re not covered in the blood of your enemies, so I guess that means Trisha escaped.”

Peter flattened his ears on his skull and glared at the throng of people gathering outside the dormitory where Stiles’ suspected a murder had taken place.

Chris headed toward the Jeep (which Stiles’ had loaned him for the investigation). He maintained his hold on Stiles even though it must have been difficult. “We’ll look into it later. Too many people now anyway.”

Peter nodded and trailed after Chris.

Chris sat Stiles down in the passenger seat then opened the back door for Peter to hop in through. As Chris rounded the vehicle, Stiles stared out the window, watching as more people appeared near the dorm.

Chris climbed inside the car and buckled his seat belt. As he started the engine, Stiles’ eyes drifted to Trisha’s dorm.

Erin peered down at Stiles through the window.

Stiles shuddered.

* * *

Stiles was emotionally exhausted, which was one of many reasons why he didn’t join Chris posing as FBI to get the list of customers who’d shoped at the new age store downtown. The many other reasons had to do with his age and that putting him in a suit had the opposite effect of making him looking older and mature; he just looked like a kid playing dress up.

“Sounds like he should be done soon,” Peter said from the back of the Jeep. He’d taken the opportunity to transform in the privacy of the Jeep on the way over to the shop. He was currently shirtless with only a pair of Stiles' sweatpants on.

Stiles closed his eyes and leaned into the headrest as he made a sound to indicate he had heard Peter.

Peter reached out from the backseat and touched Stiles’ forehead with the back of his hand.

Stiles batted the hand away. “Just tired.” He let out a loud huff. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I used to stake out crime scenes all the time. Hell, that’s how I met you and Chris. Now, just the thought of going near a dead body freaks me out.”

“Would you like me to fill your head with platitudes and promises that you’ll return to your questionable ways?”

Stiles chuckled, turning his head so he could look at Peter. “No. Just wish I knew why.”

Peter shrugged. “Any number of things, really.”

The driver's door flew open and Chris slid inside the vehicle. He dropped a folder of papers into Stiles’ waiting lap. “That’s everyone who has shopped here in the last two weeks. The owner will try to get a list of the entire month, but this is what she had on hand in the meantime.”

Peter reached over Stiles' seat and took the folder. “That leaves two more shops within the town and twelve within fifteen miles outside of town.” He eyed Stiles. “Perhaps it would be best if Chris continued the investigation with the shops and I patrolled the town? You can use the time to rest, Stiles, and also look into any magical defenses we can use against a necromancer.”

Stiles knew Peter was just giving him an excuse to take a break from the task at hand, but right then, Stiles needed it. He nodded.

“All right, back to the house then. Anything you’ll need?” Chris asked Stiles.

Stiles shook his head.

He knew without looking that Chris and Peter were giving him concerned looks, but he couldn’t find the energy to plaster on a smile or even muster a ramble for them. When Chris interlaced their fingers together, Stiles accepted it and slumped more in his seat.

When they reached the house, Stiles lumbered inside. He threw himself down on the bed.

Peter had followed him into the room and was watching him with a keen eye as he switched into a more appropriate outfit for patrol.

As Peter finished dressing, Chris entered the room and set a mug down on the nightstand. “Hot chocolate. I would have made coffee, but since we want you to rest for a bit, I believe this is an acceptable substitute.”

Stiles nodded, grabbed the mug, took a sip, and then set it down.

“We’ll be back in a few hours. Call us if you need anything,” Chris said as he took Peter’s hand and guided Peter out of the room.

Stiles waved his understanding/farewell,  then smashed his face into his pillow.

He waited for the sound of the front door closing before he took a deep breath and released it.

He still couldn’t rid himself of the sight and feeling of Chris' dead body. It was like a ghost haunting him, and Stiles hated it. He knew he should get up and research ways to stop necromancers, or at the very least find a good protection spell against hexes, but he just couldn’t find the strength.

The image of Erin staring down at him flashed in his head.

Stiles gripped his pillow tighter.

Five more minutes, he promised. Then he’d get to work.

* * *

“So it happened again,” Peter said as Chris led him outside.

Chris tensed then relaxed once he realized what Peter was referring to. “So you overheard?”

Peter nodded.

“So far this magical bond or whatever it is that has formed between Stiles and me is good.”

Peter let his eyes flash red to show off his irritation. “So far.”

“Peter,” Chris’ voice was coated in exasperation.

“You said you trusted my instinct.”

Chris nodded. “I do, but as I said, so far it’s been good.”

“We’ll see,” Peter said. Peter turned to go in the opposite direction of Chris and begin his search for the dead girl.

Chris seized Peter’s wrist and squeezed it. “Be safe.”

Peter chortled. “When I have ever not been?”

* * *

“How much toadstool again?” Kira asked as she dipped her hand into the plastic baggie of mushroom shavings. Stiles had ventured out on the last full moon for toadstool and had dried out the fungi and shaved it for a future spell. Kira sniffed the bag and made a face of distaste. She pinched her nose.

“A half cup should do.” Stiles yanked open one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out the measuring cup.

Kira measured the ingredient out and poured it into a bowl of chopped apples. “Have I told you recently that you and my mother should trade recipes?”

Stiles ran his finger over the page in Peter’s book with the spell. “I thought she wasn’t into this ‘voodoo’ stuff.”

Kira rolled her eyes. “She acts like she isn’t, and then when she has a string of bad luck suddenly the house is decked out with these strange human shaped plants that smell weird.”

“Mandrake root.”

“So it is mandrake! She always called it something else!”

“Mandragora officinarum.” Stiles wrinkled his nose at the spell. He’d be making a lot of substitutions for the spell, but most of his more exotic ingredients were at Chris and Peter’s home.

“Oh crap, it smells like Thyme. What is Stiles cooking now?” Scott asked as he finally emerged from his room. Saturday mornings and afternoons were usually Scott’s hermit time, also known as, Scott gets as much homework done as possible so he doesn’t fail his classes time.

“It’s this incense that should block hexes being place on the house and its occupants.” Stiles frowned. “Peter and Chris wouldn’t be considered occupants, would they?”

“They’re names aren’t on the lease.” Scott rummaged through the fridge and pulled out an orange.

“Damn, then I might need to find another spell.”

Scott frowned. “Is your professor really going to care whether a protection spell or whatever won’t protect Peter and Chris?”

Kira elbowed Scott. “I think it’s sweet, and maybe Stiles is more interested in witchcraft than you think.”

Scott blinked. “Oh? Oh!” He flushed. “Sorry, man. So are you Pagan now?”

Stiles scoffed and waved off the question. “I just like stinkin’ up the kitchen, now are you two going to help me, or am I going to have to protect our home from hexes by myself?”

Scott all but flung himself at the spell book and studied the recipe. He then hurried to the spice rack and started pulling out all sorts of herbs. From there, casting the spell was easy. Stiles even convinced Scott and Kira to say a chant with him as he ran around the house with the bowl of burning materials.

When they finished the first spell, Stiles sat down on the couch with his two friends and flipped through the spell book for a different spell that could protect Peter and Chris, or at least one that could undo a hex. Stiles was pleased when Scott snatched the book out of his grasp and pointed to a page on satchels that could be used to block hexes.

Instead of relocating to the kitchen, Stiles gathered the items they needed on the coffee table in the living room and the three got to work on making five satchels.

They laughed, they talked, and Stiles knew down to his core that the satchels would work. There was just too much positive energy going into them for them to fail. He also made certain that while he might talk about miscellaneous things (such as movies), he kept his thoughts focused on stopping hexes.

When the three of them finished, Scott and Kira hung their satchels around their necks and batted at the tiny bags. Scott chuckled. “We should make more. Maybe we can sell them online.”

Stiles wagged his finger at Scott as he put Peter and Chris’ satchels in his pocket. “Nope. I only craft for those I love.”

“I can’t wait to see if Peter will wear his. He doesn’t seem like the type,” Scott said.

“He will,” Stiles used a threatening tone of voice, playing with Scott. He stood up and brushed off some loose herbs that had gotten on him. “Now, excuse me while I text a photo to my boyfriends.”

He strolled out of the room and into his bedroom. He picked up his phone where he had left it for the time being and froze when he lifted his head and saw Trisha outside his window.

Stiles looked around, half expecting the necromancer to be there with Trisha.

Trisha beckoned Stiles toward her, her expression pained.

Stiles shook his head.

Trisha clasped her hands in a pleading action.

Stiles frowned. He stepped toward the window and opened it. “I ain’t coming out unless you give me a good reason to believe you’re not here to kill me.”

Trisha stumbled and her eyes shifted in panic. “Please, just command me to stay here.”

Stiles jerked his head back.

“Please, I know it doesn’t make any sense, but—” Trisha started to turn away. Her legs shook as she stomped through the grass toward the side yard.

“Stay!” Stiles shouted. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew he wouldn’t get answers if Trisha ran off.

Trisha shook her head and continued walking. “Concentrate.”

Stiles frowned, but closed his eyes and focused. He could feel his magic swelling up inside of him. When he opened his eyes again Trisha was almost at the side yard. He said in a calm, commanding voice, “Stay.”

Trisha stopped.

Her legs trembled and then her knees buckled. She covered her face with her hands.

“Hey, Stiles, you going to help us with this mess?” Scott hollered from the hallway.

Stiles whirled. “Just a sec.”

Trisha sobbed.

Stiles stomach knotted with trepidation. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere,” Stiles commanded as an extra precaution.

Trisha nodded.

Stiles went back to the living room, his throat dry and his thoughts rampant. He joked with Scott and Kira to keep them unsuspecting of what was going on, but his mind was with Trisha the whole time he helped the two clean. As he dumped the last of the excess herbs into the trash bin he debated what to do with Trisha. He couldn’t risk Scott and Kira seeing Trisha, but it would be foolish to approach the girl.

Stiles clutched the satchel around his neck. Jeremy had been killed through a hex, he reminded himself. Steven’s attempted murder had been the same. Therefore, Trisha shouldn’t be a true threat. So far she had only been the point of fixation that had led to the death of Jeremy and another college mate.

Stiles squared his shoulders and went outside, fiddling with his satchel the whole time. He went through the side yard to get Trisha.

She was still on the ground. Her body shook, but she no longer sobbed.

“You here to talk or what?” Stiles asked.

Trisha lifted her head, revealing bloodshot eyes from crying. She nodded.

Stiles licked his lips, nervous about what he planned to do. “All right. Follow me.” He turned his back on Trisha, muscles tense in anticipation to a literal or figurative knife to the back.

The grass crunched under Trisha’s feet, signaling that she was following.

Stiles glanced back at Trisha. She was still in the hoodie from when he’d seen her at Jeremy’s house. “Raise your hood.”

She nodded.

They strolled down the sidewalk, Stiles keeping his head down as he walked. He motioned Trisha to come forward and walk beside him. He took her to a park where a bunch of kids and their parents we running around. There was a secluded corner a bit far off from the play structure where a bunch of teens and college students went to make out; Stiles took Trisha there.

Her dropped onto his ass and folded his legs under him. He waited for Trisha to do the same.

“So…” Stiles prompted.

“I want to talk,” Trisha said.

Stiles nodded and waited.

“I want to talk,” Trisha repeated.

“Then do it. What are you? Ariel? Except you’re talking and Ariel couldn’t say one word, so—“

Trisha put a silencing hand on Stiles' mouth. “I. Want. To. Talk.”

Stiles understood what Trisha was trying to say. Just because she wanted to talk didn’t mean she could. “Is this like the ‘stay’ thing?”

Trisha stared blankly ahead.

Stiles took a deep breath. He felt deep inside himself for his magic and once again released it through himself. “Talk. Tell me why you sought me out.”

“I don’t want them dead. Hurt. Humiliated. Yes. Not dead though. She’s gone too far, and I—I never wanted to watch them die.”

“This ‘she’ wouldn’t happen to be your roommate Erin?”

Trisha bowed her head in shame. “She was my best friend. She blamed them for what happened, even Jeremy. He didn’t do anything wrong. He’d just carried me upstairs and locked me in a room so no one else would feel me up. He didn’t realize I would O.D.” Tears ran down her face. “She killed him first though.”

“Whoa,” Stiles breathed, taken aback by the new information. He recalled the photo of Trisha and Jeremy together the night of her death and realized that what he had seen as just another jerk messing with her body was probably him trying to cart her away from the rest of the group. All he’d been doing in the photo was holding her up by her waist as she slouched against him.

“You have to stop her,” Trisha insisted.

“Hey, I’m trying. I already got my partners on the case.”

Trisha shook her head. “You can’t let him near her.”

“You’re going to need to clarify which him.”

“The one like me,” Trisha answered, and Stiles’ heart stopped. “The one who was brought back to life.”

* * *

 

Chris let out a heavy breath as he exited the herbal shop with only two sheets of paper worth of names and a bag of the shop’s special blend of tea. The cashier had taken one look at him and forced him to take home enough of the stuff to last him a month—even after he said he was an FBI agent working a case. He really hoped Peter’s nostrils wouldn’t be sensitive to the smell or else Chris would be forced to trash the gift, which would be such a waste.

Chris shifted the bags and paper around in his arms, so he could open the Jeep’s door with ease.

“Stop,” a young girl’s voice commanded.

Chris glanced over his shoulder, assessing the girl. Blonde with glasses and one of those weird kids who walked around in booty shorts and a sweater as if they didn’t know what the weather was like, so they decided to dress their top half different from there lower. She was around Stiles’ age but lacked baby fat—indicating she was slightly older. What a girl like her would be doing giving him commands, Chris didn’t know, but with undead girls walking around, Chris felt comfortable giving into his paranoia and resting his hand on his hip holster. “Is there something I can help you with, miss?”

The girl frowned. She narrowed her gaze at Chris like he was a difficult crossword puzzle.

Chris reached for the door handle again.

The girl lunged for his shoulder.

Chris whirled and blocked with his forearm.

The girl reached into her pocket and pulled out a crystal. She hurriedly spoke jibberish to the crystal.

Chris snatched at the crystal, but the girl dropped to her knees then bounced back up so she was within his personal bubble. She slammed the crystal against Chris’ chest.

Chris gasped for breath as a heat so intense swept through his body and stole the air from his lungs. The flames licked at his brain until his thoughts were weak and diminished.

When the pain stopped Chris grasped his gun, or so he tried. His fingers refused to move to his will.

The girl smiled. “Now, you are going to help me find that soul mate of yours and put a bullet in his head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, buddies. So I just wanted to let you know that due to some events going on I may not be able to respond to comments right away. Still feel free to leave them though. I love hearing back from all of you.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles cursed as Chris’ cell phone went to voicemail for the third time.

“She’s already gotten to him,” Trisha said.

Stiles shook his head and called Chris again. “You don’t know that.”

“I can feel her attention is focused on another, and considering your boyfriend is the only other person I know who is supposed to be six feet in the grave, my bet is that it is him.”

Voicemail again. Stiles cussed and mimed throwing his phone on the ground. “How did she even know he was once dead?”

Trisha pursed her lips and tugged on her hoodie’s sleeve. “I don’t know, but I think it’s like what I experienced when I first saw you. I knew you were like her. I knew you could command me just like her.”

Stiles shook his head at her word choice. “This is sounding too much like a bad BDSM novel.” He scrolled through his contacts and dialed Peter.

Peter picked up on the first ring. “Did you find anything useful?”

“Oh, just a couple of spells to block hexes and the frickin’ dead girl you’re trackin’!”

“Where are you?” Peter demanded.

“Better question: do you know where Chris is or have you heard from him?”

“No, but considering he’s not the one with the dead girl—”

“He might be with the necromancer though.” Stiles side-eyed Trisha. “According to Trisha, Erin has probably already made contact with him.”

“Erin?” Peter repeated, and Stiles knew Peter was already connecting that Erin was Trisha’s roommate. “That explains why Trisha’s scent was so strong in that room; she must have been there recently. I didn’t detect decay or any smell of death though.”

“Yeah, well, Trisha looks like she could give Deadpool a run for his money in terms of regeneration, so I’m not surprised. Also, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re the two biggest idiots on the planet. We determined not long ago that we are dealing with a necromancer and we sent Chris—our resident former dead guy—off on his own.”

Peter was silent.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, we just took stupid to a whole new level.”

Peter growled. “You get what information you can from the girl. I’ll look for Chris.”

“I can’t help but think he’ll come to us. It’s just a question of how much it’s going to be under his own volition when he does.” Stiles hung up and ran a shaky hand through his spiky hair.

Trisha looked off into the distance and frowned. “She’s coming toward us.” She snatched Stiles' hand and tugged him through the park.

Stiles squawked and yanked his hand out of her hold. “Hey, wait, I’m not taking off with the girl that goes all puppet like when her psycho roommate chooses to exert her will over her.”

Trisha grabbed Stiles again and tugged. “She’s coming. She knows where you are.”

Stiles knocked her hand away. “And how would she know that?” An idea went off in Stiles head. “Did you text her when I wasn’t looking?”

Trisha shook her head. “Raised and raiser. We can sense each other’s movements.” Trisha shifted her eyes warily. “Emotions too, if they’re strong enough. She was pissed when you saved Steven.”

 _Raised and raiser?_ Stiles mulled over the words. Like him and Chris. “Oh shit! If she has Chris then she can track me.” But that also meant Stiles could track Chris.

Hope bloomed in Stiles chest. Maybe Chris hadn’t had a run in with Little Miss Necromancer? If that was so, then Stiles could find Chris and warn him before Erin got her clutches in him.

But Trisha had said she sensed Erin’s attention on someone else.

Stiles bit his bottom lip and groaned in frustration. He didn’t know what to do.

Trisha grabbed the hem of his shirt and urged Stiles to move.

“Fuck it.” Stiles seized Trisha’s wrist and ran across the park into an alleyway, slid through a hole in the broken fence barring his path, and took a roundabout route back to the house. He took out his phone and called Scott.

“Hey, Stiles?” Confusion tinged Scott’s greeting. They’d just seen each other and they usually texted unless one of them was out of town.

“I need to borrow your bike in ten minutes, and I’m going to need it for the rest of the night.”

“Okay, but you don’t have the license to be driving a motorcycle.”

“I know what licenses I do and don’t have, Scott. I just need to know if you’ll let me borrow your bike?”

“Do my laundry this week?”

“Ugh.” Stiles just about gagged at the memory of Scott’s foul socks. “Fine. Set the keys out for me.”

“Done.”

Stiles hung up. “Escape vehicle secured.”

* * *

Chris’ scent was not easy to find, which caused Peter’s hackles to rise with irritation. This was Chris, his soul mate, the man he loved, and the man whose scent practically was Peter’s own. It should take little effort on Peter’s part to track him, yet Peter could only find hours old trails that were left over from this morning. He needed something fresher, something—

The Jeep’s sputtering sound filled Peter’s ears from a mile away.

Peter’s head perked up.

The only person who should driving the Jeep right now was Chris.

Peter dashed off in the direction of the car.

* * *

 

Trisha was gasping for breath as she struggled to keep up with Stiles.

“Being undead doesn’t help with endurance, does it?” Stiles joked.

Trisha glared.

They were just a few blocks away from the house when Trisha stopped Stiles. “We’re heading in Erin’s direction.”

“Damn,” Stiles muttered. Stiles had chosen an indirect route to the house because he thought Chris would follow it if he was being controlled be Erin, but maybe Erin had decided to skip the hunt and just go directly to Stiles' home. It wasn’t like it would take much to find out where he lived, with or without Chris’ help. “Well, that plan sucked. Okay, new plan.”

Stiles took out his phone again. “Hey, Kira,” he said when he heard the phone was picked up.

“Stiles? Didn’t you just call, Scott?”

“Yeah… I did, and I still need the bike, but I also need you and Scott to vamoose for the next twenty-four hours.”

Kira paused. “I hate to ask, but are you sexiling us?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“And you still want Scott’s bike?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… I feel on Scott’s behalf I have to ask if his bike has anything to do with the sex you have planned, because as his girlfriend, I have to step in and let you know that—”

“There will be no sex involving the bike.” Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, just do me this huge favor and get out of the house in the next two minutes and I will owe you big time. I will stay at a motel or crash at a friend’s house for a week if you two get out of the house now. Don’t even waste time packing. If you stay at motel Peter, Chris, and I will pay for it, and we’ll pay for any necessities you need to purchase because it’s so last minute.”

Kira hesitated. “Is everything all right, Stiles?”

“It will be, as long as you and Scott leave in one minute.”

“Okay,” Kira’s voice was uncertain. “Just… if something is the matter, let us know.”

“Will do, now get out.”

Stiles hung up.

Trisha tensed and looked over her shoulder like she expected someone to be there. “She knows I’m nearby.” Trisha cussed. “I’d hoped she’d keep ignoring me longer.”

“Does she know I’m with you?” Stiles asked.

Trisha shook her head. She grimaced. “No, but...” She groaned and clutched her head. “She’s trying to call me back.”

“Just keep resisting.”

Trisha scowled. “It’s not that easy. I’ve been waiting days for her to break her concentration, and—” Trisha hissed. She shoved Stiles away. “Go.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. He ran down the street, his thoughts racing alongside him as he plotted his next move. Scott and Kira would be safe if they got out of the house before Erin arrived.

Of course when he got to the house, Kira and Scott were still there. Hell! Kira was standing on the lawn—easiest target in the world—and staring at the wide open front door. “C’mon, Scott.” She tapped her finger impatiently against her hip and checked the time on her phone.

“Just give me a sec, I’m trying to figure where to put the keys so Stiles can—”

“What are you two still doing here? I thought I told you to get out as soon as I hung up.” Stiles skidded to a halt in front of Kira. He looked around for any signs of Chris or Erin.

“Catch.” Scott tossed the motorcycle keys.

Stiles caught them on reflex. “Does this look like you two left a couple minute ago?”

“Just chill, Stiles. Kira and I are leaving now.” Scott shifted the weight of the backpack he’d slung over his shoulder. “We were just making sure everything was locked up.”

“And packing. I distinctly remember—“

Stiles heard the sound of a car engine sputter and whirled.

Stiles saw the Jeep rolling down the street and before he even knew what he was doing, he threw himself back against his friends, knocking them to the ground.

The sound of a gun rang through the air.

Stiles rolled into a crouch and dropped the motorcycle keys on Scott’s chest. “Get out of here.”

“What the hell?” Scott shouted as Kira scrambled away from Stiles.

The Jeep stopped, and Stiles throat went dry as he watched Chris step out from the passenger side of the car. A moment later Erin did the same from the driver’s side.

Stiles rose to his feet.

Chris pointed the gun at Stiles’ head.

Stiles halted. He’d been anticipating the action, but it still left him shaken to see Chris looking down at him from the other side of the barrel. Stiles searched Chris' eyes for a glazed look or some indication that Chris was under Erin’s spell, but Chris appeared fully in control of himself.

It pissed Stiles off.

“So you're going to have him shoot me, just cause we got a little curious about your murders? Because really,” Stiles gestured at the street lamps. “You don’t think that there weren’t any cameras that caught sight of you in the car with Chris? You might get away with first degree murder for me, but you’ll still be an accessory.”

“I’ve raised the dead, do you really think I’d let something as mundane as a street cam catch me?” Erin motioned to the street. “Or how about witnesses? You think its normal for a road to be so empty, or for no one to check what’s going after a bullet shot?”

“What is she talking about, and what the hell is Chris doing aiming a gun at you?” Scott whispered behind Stiles.

Stiles didn’t tear his gaze away from Chris or Erin, but he did gesture for Scott to stay quiet.

Kira was breathing heavily and nervously behind them.

“You do realize, this messes everything up in the little scenario you've created in your head? You kill me, you’re not the hero anymore. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You are trying to stop me from getting justice. Shoot,” Erin said.

The command was so short and spoken so casually, Stiles couldn’t process the word before Chris pulled the trigger.

Kira screamed.

Scott tackled Stiles.

Stiles hit the ground face first and sucked in a sharp breath, waiting for the moment pain would flood through him. When it didn’t come, his heart wrenched itself out of his chest. He flung himself around and grabbed Scott, looking for the bullet would.

Erin cursed.

Stiles looked up and his new angle allowed him to see what he hadn’t before.

Peter white-knuckled Chris’ wrist, holding the arm so the gun aimed at the sky.

His eyes glowed red and his fang protruded out from his mouth. With a snarl he bashed his elbow into Chris’ face. Blood spewed out of Chris' nose. Chris stumbled but didn’t fall. Peter slapped the back of Chris’ head, and Chris finally fell to the ground unconscious.

Peter’s head snapped to Erin, who didn’t appear one bit perturbed. He took a step toward her. “The problem with any form of mind control is, unless you have mastered the perfect balance of imposing your will while tapping into the victim’s skill sets, it really does make the victim little better than a punching bag.”

Erin cocked an eyebrow up. “You’re that dog.”

“Wolf, actually. Werewolf if you prefer to be exact.” Peter unsheathed his claws.

“Holy hell,” Scott murmured.

“Oh,” Kira said, like she did when Stiles’ pointed out a typo in one of her essays. He didn’t know if that reaction was a good sign, or if Kira’s sanity had just taken a huge nosedive.

“Peter, careful.” Stiles nerves tangled together. Erin was way too calm for a girl going up against a werewolf.

“I really could careless,” Erin responded and pushed her hand out like she was shoving someone away.

Peter went flying.

He soared through the air, arcing into the house and causing a human sized dent in the wall like he was some anime character.

“Peter!” Stiles moved to go to Peter when from the corner of his eye he saw, Erin approach Chris.

With a growl that could rival Peter’s, Stiles dropped to his knees and yanked Chris away from Erin.

He heard Scott and Kira run off behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed that where Stiles had aborted his attempt to check on Peter, Scott and Kira had taken his place. Kira rambled as she wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist to help him stand. Scott had taken Peter’s arm and wrapped it around his shoulder, so Peter could put his weight on him.

Peter blinked, dazed. His sight landed on Erin and he shoved off Kira and Scott.

Erin thrust her hand up again.

Peter smashed back into the wall.

Kira and Scott slid backwards about a foot.

Erin frowned. She must have expected them to go flying too.

Scott and Kira shared looks of puzzlement.

It was either the satchels or the protective spell at work. Stiles dug into his pocket and produced the two. He placed one on Chris’ chest, and threw the other at Scott. “Scott, Peter!”

Scott dove for the satchel, but with another hand motion, Erin sent it away. The satchel bounced as it hit the ground and rolled until it was resting in front of Trisha’s sneakers.

Scott and Kira stilled at Trisha’s appearance.

Erin scowled. “What took you so long?”

Trisha cocked her head, silent as a doll.

Stiles plotted. The satchel was designed to protect against hexes. He didn’t know if mind control counted as a hex, especially when it involved a necromancer and the person they’d brought back to life, but maybe there was something Stiles could do with the satchel. His magic was tied to it, right? Maybe he could manipulate it so it would break the hold Erin had on Trisha. Erin wouldn’t expect that and it would give them an edge.

Peter was back on his feet and brushing off the rubble.

Before he even made a move toward Erin, Chris’ gun flew into her hand and she shot at Peter.

Horrified sounds escaped Scott and Kira.

Peter hissed through the pain and clutched his shoulder.

“No!” Stiles flung his hand at Erin.

Erin slammed into the Jeep’s side and dropped the gun.

The gun was suddenly in Stiles’ hand and his finger on the trigger.

“She’ll die,” Erin spat.

 _She’s already dead_ , echoed in Stiles’ head, but still he hesitated.

“Stiles! On your right!” Peter warned.

Stiles reacted without thinking. He knew Chris and knew how the man armed himself. Chris was never without a second weapon, and so Stiles thought about the pistol Chris kept in a shoulder strap near his heart.

The weapon flung itself into Stiles free hand, and Stiles’ leveled the weapon at Trisha.

Trisha froze in her approach from his right.

Stiles doubted she could do much harm without some assistance from Erin, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t distract him or off set his aim.

Erin glared and with the venomous stare came a great pressure. It was like being held under water for too long, and Stiles knew the sensation was Erin trying to use magic on him.

His hands trembled as the guns in his hands tried to flee from his hands.

Stiles grit his teeth and concentrated on his anger and his determination to keep his friends and soul mates safe. Friggin’ telekinetic powers. He’d dabbled, but he still wasn’t very good with using magic in such a manner. It was pure will, and right now not only did his will need to be strong enough to break the laws of physics, but it needed to be stronger than Erin’s.

“Peter,” Stiles said through clenched teeth. “What kind of bullet was it?”

Peter didn’t answer.

“Peter.”

Peter chuckled self-deprecatingly. “There’s a reason I’m not rushing out there to slice off her head.”

Stiles' anger surged.

Erin shrieked as not only was she shoved back again, but she was flipped over the car and sent skittering across the street.

Stiles launched up, letting Chris fall off his lap, and positioned himself so the Jeep acted as a cover between him and Erin. He glanced at Trisha who was shaking her head and blinking repeatedly.

“Stiles,” Scott spoke worriedly. “Don’t shoot.” He sounded like he was trying to talk someone down from jumping off a bridge.

“She’s a murderer, Scott!”

“That doesn’t make it right. You can’t just—Jesus Christ!”

Stiles didn’t have time to react. Trisha had charged at him and had gotten behind him. Her arm wrapped around his neck and shoulders. He struggled, but she held him as she stretched out her arm along his. She wrapped her hand around the one he had aimed at Erin.

Stiles’ heart stopped.

Trisha pushed his finger down on the trigger.

Stiles froze. He heard the panic and the shouts. He felt Trisha go limp and slid off him. He saw Erin lying dead in the street, blood spreading across her sweater. As the blood stained her clothes crimson, Stiles’ blood chilled.

Numb. He was numb. He didn’t even know his legs were quaking until he fell to his knees.

Peter barked out orders.

Kira was at his side, murmuring something in his ear and helping him into the house.

His eyes wouldn’t leave the corpse though, not even when Peter—perfectly health, albeit one bullet hole too many—waltzed over to the body and picked it up like a sack of trash.

Stiles blanked out after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, buddies. It's going to be bittersweet in more ways than one.
> 
> Until then, as always feel free to chat with me on [Tumblr](http://akira-of-the-twilight.tumblr.com/).


	5. Chapter 5

When Stiles came to, he was curled up on the couch and clutching a hot bowl of soup as Chris held Stiles tightly to his chest.

“So is Spiderman real?” Scott inquired.

Chris sighed in exasperation, his chest rising and falling below Stiles’ head. Stiles closed his eyes and took comfort in the miniscule movement that signified Chris' well-being. “No.”

“Oh… how about things like the Norse or Greek gods?”

“I haven’t met any, and I haven’t come across anyone who has, so I would assume they don’t exist or that they are very good about keeping low profiles.”

“I think Stiles is coming out of it,” Kira said.

Stiles opened one eye.

Kira and Scott were seated cross-legged at the other end of the coffee table. Kira had leaned forward. Curiosity and worry dominated her features. Beside her, Scott gave one of his soft crooked smiles; the kind he gave when he wanted to be encouraging even though he himself was full of doubt.

“You back with us?” Chris whispered, brushing his lips across Stiles’ temple.

Stiles took a deep breath, feeling a weight on his chest that he didn’t want. “Yeah.” He raised the bowl of soup to his lips and took a sip.

Scott’s smile strengthened. “You scared us there. You went completely space cadet on us, Stiles.”

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled and took another sip, enjoying the bit of warmth the soup provided. “I don’t know what happened. I was ready to shoot her, but then when Trisha…” Stiles trailed off. He slurped down another mouthful of soup.

Chris rubbed his thumb along the base of Stiles’ skull. “Shock.”

Stiles tilted his head up, his forehead knocking into Chris’ chin. “You’re back too?”

Chris hugged Stiles’ waist. “Yeah.”

Stiles looked round the room, noticing that someone was missing. “Where’s Peter?”

Scott and Kira grimaced.

“He’s getting rid of the evidence," Chris stated.

Stiles nodded, accepting the answer.

Then like a bull ramming him from out of nowhere, rage sucker punched Stiles in the gut at Stiles' last memory of Peter. He dropped his soup, the hot liquid splattering his ankles as it stained the floor. “He lied to me.”

Chris shushed Stiles and drew Stiles’ head back down to his chest. “Calm down.”

Stiles wrestled out of Chris’ hold. “He lied to me! He made me think he’d gotten a bullet full of wolfsbane.”

Stiles rose to stand, but his legs were numb from being the same position for too long and he stumbled. Chris grabbed him, holding Stiles in his lap. “Calm down, Stiles. You’re still in shock.”

Stiles whirled on Chris. “I don’t care if I’m still in shock, I’m going to kick his furry little ass!”

“There are many things I’ll let you do to my ass, but you will have to rethink that one, Stiles,” Peter’s silky smooth voice slid out from the front door as it opened. There wasn’t a speck of blood or dirt on him to signal his battle prior or that he had been hiding bodies; he was the picture of perfection.

Stiles wanted to deck Peter across the face for it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Peter sauntered into the living room unperturbed. He rested his head on the back of the couch and looked down at Stiles. For a few seconds he merely examined Stiles, then he cocked his head in the direction of the hallway. “Bedroom.”

“Why the hell should I do that when you manipulated me so I—”

“You want answers? Then you’ll grant me some privacy. Although, if you rather continue on like a chi—” Peter cut himself off. Stiles picked up on what Peter had almost let slip though.

_A child_.

Peter took a deep breath and released it through his nostrils. He begrudgingly glanced at Stiles’ from the corner of his eyes, his shoulders raised just a hint higher. Peter knew he’d almost let loose a word that would have thrown Stiles further off the handle. He also knew that Stiles had still managed to pick up on what he’d almost said, and was waiting for Stiles to make a move.

It loosened the knot of tension in Stiles’ chest. He was still furious, but the moment of vulnerability from Peter calmed Stiles. It was a reminder that even if Peter was an evil manipulator he was still human (or at least human where it counted).

Stiles huffed and stood again. “Fine.”

Chris hadn’t let go of Stiles’ waist, and based on the way his fingers bunched the fabric of Stiles’ shirt, he was debating whether it would be wise to let Stiles go; or at the very least he was deciding whether he should follow Stiles and Peter into the bedroom.

Peter nodded. “Good.” He sent a pointed look Chris’ way. “Just the two of us.” He gestured at Kira and Scott, who had been silently watching. “I’m sure these two still have more questions. Tell them about druids.”

“What’s so special about druids?” Scott asked Kira.

Kira shrugged.

Chris let out an annoyed breath, but let Stiles go. “Thanks, Peter.”

“Anything for you, darling.” Peter strolled into the hallway, stopping just after a few step to wait for Stiles to catch up.

Stiles moved slowly, mentally urging his leg to get over its numbness. When he caught up to Peter, Peter pushed open the bedroom door and held it for Stiles.

Stiles trudged inside, going as far in as possible to give himself space from Peter. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Peter to shut the door. Once they were sealed away, Stiles tore into Peter. “I don't know what the fuck your problem is! I almost killed that girl because I thought she had poisoned you. Do you know of friggin’ terrified I was? How on Earth could you possibly think that was okay?” Each word brought a new level of volume to Stiles' speech until Peter was flinching from the decibel level.

“I want to make one thing clear: I did not lie; I misled.”

Stiles opened his mouth to scream.

“And I know that means the same thing to you,” Peter stated calmly. “I would have preferred not too, but there weren’t many options left.”

Stiles scowled. “Yet you still did it, even though I might have killed Erin and in return Trisha.”

“We’ll discuss the Erin and Trisha issue in a moment,” Peter said, still somehow maintaining composure. “I want you to recall our situation: Chris was incapacitated. I had already attacked Erin twice and failed spectacularly in harming her. Scott and Kira we no more than extra targets; although you obviously managed to gift them some sort of protection. Finally, there was you. You were the only one to land a blow on Erin and had a weapon aimed at her and Trisha.

I’d already been searching for an opening, but in truth, once I revealed myself it was quite obvious that for me to get near her would require more chaos to distract her, which we didn’t have. In addition, you were struggling against her, or was that trembling I saw just fear?”

Stiles glowered.

Peter smirked. “I thought not. So yes, Stiles, when you asked me what type of bullet had hit me, I misled you. You were the only piece on the board that had a chance of harming her, and I saw that you were struggling, so I threw out more fuel to get your spark flaring. I never told you to kill her.”

“But you knew!” Stiles threw his arms out and gesticulated. “You had to know! I was so angry! How could you not—”

Peter was right there, hands clamped on Stiles’ arms and holding them in place. “Strategic risk.”

Stiles freed one of his arms and punched Peter’s chest. “Jackass!”

Peter squeezed the arm he still had a hold of. “I didn’t know for certain, Stiles, and I won’t lie; I had no qualms with the notion of you killing her, especially when you really had no other option.”

Stiles jerked in surprise.

Peter continued, ignoring Stiles’ shock. “As I said, you were the only one who could fight her, and you were struggling. Even with the extra motivation, you were only able to shove her away.” Peter grinned. “Impressive, but the blow did not incapacitate her. I suppose you might have been able to keep fighting and perhaps she would have slipped up in your magical game of tug-o-war, but there was no guarantee. So that left either capturing her or killing her. Did you have any way of containing her?”

Stiles shook his head.

Peter nodded. “So you see, Stiles, there might have been a sliver of a chance that your hands would have come out clean from this fight, but the odds were against it.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Stiles pushed himself against Peter, getting into Peter’s personal space. “You didn’t know I would try to kill Erin? The odds of me walking away from that fight without killing her were low? Fuck you, Peter!” _God damn it_ , Stiles internally cried. He was shaking again. “I’m supposed to be able to trust you.”

Peter bared a fang. “And you can.” He wrapped his free arm around Stiles’ waist. “You can trust that when it comes to you and Chris I will use any means necessary to keep you two alive. If that means I have to manipulate one of you to keep you going when everything is stacked against you, then I’ll do it. I’ve never pretended to be a paragon or morals, Stiles.”

Peter’s eyes flickered over Stiles’ shivering body. His mouth curled downward. “You know that though, and you have every right to be mad. So what is this?” Peter lifted the arm he still held so it was right in Stiles’ face.

Stiles clenched his fist and tried to force himself to stop shaking. “Shit,” he hissed when his body betrayed him and proceeded to quake.

Peter dragged Stiles’ arm over his shoulder and held Stiles’ waist tighter.

Stiles cussed and buried his face in Peter's shoulder. “Fine! I’m scared, okay. I’ve never—I’ve never been that enraged before. The Alphas and the hunters pissed me off, okay? And yeah, there were times when I wanted to tear them apart, but this was different. This was…”

“Bloodlust,” Peter stated so matter of fact like, it sapped some of the turmoil out of Stiles.

Stiles nodded. That’s exactly what it had been, undiluted bloodlust. “It was like I was possessed. I didn’t even care about Trisha dying again. I just wanted Erin to suffer and…” Stiles cussed. “It’s all your fault.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully, hands wandering under Stiles’ shirt to touch the skin there. There was nothing sexual about the touch, only comfort. “I suppose it is.”

Stiles bit his cheek and clutched the back of Peter’s shirt. He hated himself a little more at Peter’s acceptance of the blame. Peter might have pushed him off the edge, but Peter had had no idea how deep the fall was from that precipice. He could take some blame, but in the end, it had been all Stiles when he flung Erin over the car and readied to pull the trigger.

There was a knock at the door.

Stiles stiffened.

“It’s just Chris.” Peter pulled back from Stiles. “I’ve said my piece. We can let him in. He is better with giving comfort.”

Stiles huffed, sinking against Peter more. “Come in, Chris.”

Chris slipped into the room. He slid the door shut once again for privacy then stood there, assessing Peter and Stiles.

Peter loosened his hold, but Stiles squeezed Peter tighter.

Peter frowned, tilted his head, and studied Stiles. He glimpsed at Chris then returned to embracing Stiles.

“It looks like you two are doing better,” Chris spoke with caution, obviously afraid that if he pointed out the peace, he would end it.

“He’s still a manipulative jackass, who is as good as sleeping on the couch.” Stiles lifted his just enough to meet Chris’ gaze. “Although, I’m not stupid enough to believe he’ll actually sleep on the couch.”

Peter grinned. “I am pleased you know me so well.”

Chris frowned, his eyes scanning the room for a threat.

Stiles frowned. “Something wrong?”

Chris shook his head, pondering something. “I had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. That you were in distress.”

Stiles groaned, slouching into Peter’s arms again. “About that, turns out raising you from the dead has its consequences. Congratulations, Chris, you a living, breathing, baby monitor for me and you double as a tracker too.”

Chris’ eyebrows shot up his forehead.

Peter jerked back from Stiles, but did not release him. Peter hurriedly smoothed over his features and acted nonchalant. “So if I were to have died today, and you brought me back to life—”

“You’d get to know all the secrets of my heart,” Stiles stated drily.

“Hmm. I suppose I’m lucky then. That would have gotten annoying fast.”

Stiles punched Peter’s shoulder.

The corner of Chris’ mouth twitched upward.

Peter scowled at Chris.

Chris chortled and shook his head.

Stiles frowned. “I’m missing something here, aren’t I? Also, might I point out who was right about Chris’ moment of premonition not being a sign of evil things to come, despite the timing of it.”

“It’s a cute little trick now, until Chris is taken control of again and used to find you.”

“Or, hear me out,” Stiles said, grateful for the jovial banter after everything he had been through, “he gets kidnapped, and I use our special bond to track him down and save him.”

“It works in reverse?” Chris asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Sounds like it.”

“Stiles is just too self-centered to notice you, Chris.”

“Hey!” Stiles griped.

“Relax, Stiles.” Chris chuckled. “Peter is jealous right now, and a lot more insecure than you think.”

“Really?” Stiles eyed Peter.

Peter scoffed, turning his nose up at Stiles. “I wouldn’t be so juvenile.”

A grin slowly stretched across Stiles face. “You are. You are so jealous.” He pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! Now I am not the only one!”

Peter pinched the back of Stiles neck. “Hush, you.”

Stiles relaxed soon after. There was still a part of his stomach that roiled at the memory of his actions that day, but he did his best not to focus on it. It was selfish, but he needed some time to process everything. He also needed a reminder of how good it was just to be happy, even if it was tinged with guilt every time he thought of Trisha.

Whether it was because Chris could sense that Stiles was still unsettled or if it was just natural intuition, Chris prodded Stiles for more information about what he had discussed with Peter. Surprisingly, Peter was the one who cut off Chris’ questions and convinced the hunter to allow Stiles more time to process before he had to make his dark confession again.

As it grew later, Stiles could tell Chris and Peter wanted to keep him close, but with a half-hearted smile and a reminder that Peter was officially “couched,” Stiles left them in the bedroom and wandered out into the living room with his laptop.

He pulled up cat-videos and clips from his favorite shows to watch as he scrolled through forums. It was well past midnight when Stiles realized he’d been spending the past hour stalking Trisha’s various social media pages. She was actually a pretty cool person. Marvel movie fan, Hitchcock aficionado, collector of cookie recipes, and a lot more.

Stiles huffed and slumped against the couch.

“Can’t sleep?” Scott asked from the kitchen.

Stiles jumped, having not heard Scott rustling around. Scott fished out the emergency quart of ice cream and grabbed two spoons. He joined Stiles on the couch.

“I’m guess you can’t either.”

“I started thinking about dragons, and then I kept picturing my mom getting eaten by one of them. It freaked me out.” Scott offered Stiles a spoon.

Stiles took the spoon and quart. He popped the lid off the ice cream then stabbed his spoon into it. “So not handling the supernatural stuff so well?” Stiles stirred his spoon, gathering as much ice cream as he could. “Sorry. I kind of dropped the ball on that one. I should have been the one to explain everything.”

“Nah, Chris explained it well enough, and I don’t blame you for not telling me; although it would have been nice to know I was insulting a werewolf,” there was a hint of accusation at the tail end of Scott’s sentence. “You know, in case Peter ever chooses to use me as a chew toy.”

Stiles snorted in amusement. “Sorry, but he already has two chew toys, so I don’t think you need to worry.” Stiles bit into the ice cream and moaned in delight. Triple fudge chocolate: perfect.

Scott took the quart and scooped out his first spoonful. “So you’re a spark.”

“I’m Harry Potter.”

“I’d say Ron or Draco, depending on your mood.”

Stiles good mood soured. He looked down at his laptop and stared at the picture of Trisha on a hike with her friends—Erin included in the picture.

“Today I went Voldemort.”

Scott paused with the spoon in his mouth. His eyes wandered to the computer screen and he swallowed hard. He popped the spoon out of his mouth. “Yeah, that scared me a bit.”

“Me too.”

Scott relinquished the quart to Stiles.

Stiles took another spoonful. “Is it wrong that all I can think about right now is how grateful I am that Trisha snapped out the Erin’s control long enough to pull the trigger?”

“I don’t know, Stiles.”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t I feel more torn up about her death or something?”

“Whose?”

“Trisha.” Stiles face scrunched as he rethought his answer. “I guess the good guy response should be ‘both of them’ but really, I can't bring myself to care that Erin is dead except in all the bad ways.”

“What do you mean ‘bad ways?’”

Stiles turned the quart over in his hands, scratching his thumbnail into the label. “In all the selfish ways. I worry about how this is going to affect us? What will happen when people notice she is no longer showing up to class? Are the police going to show up and arrest the five of us?”

“I didn’t think about that,” Scott admitted.

Stiles plopped the quart in his lap. “And those are my good thoughts. Well, no. They’re a close second in the good thoughts category. At least when I think about Trisha, I can feel some remorse about her death. I barely knew Trisha and we weren’t besties or anything, but I mean look at all the stuff she likes. She’s pretty cool.” Stiles gestured at his laptop for Scott to see.

Scott leaned over, pulling the laptop closer. He flipped through all of the tabs Stiles had up. “Stiles, did you research her just to make yourself feel…guilty?”

Stiles purposefully took another bite of ice cream.

“Stiles,” Scott lightly reprimanded.

“I feel more horrible that I turned into some killing machine than I care about their deaths Scott,” Stiles said through a mouthful of ice. He shoved another spoon’s worth of ice cream in his mouth. “Do you know who feels that way? Evil people, Scott. I’m evil.”

“Well, Peter is your soul mate.”

Stiles jabbed his spoon at Scott. “Not funny, man.”

“Stiles, you’re not evil.” Scott took the quart of ice cream from Stiles’ lap. “You barely knew either of them, and one tried to kill us all, so I don’t think anyone would blame you for not mourning Erin.”

“I wanted to kill her so bad, Scott.”

“I know, but you didn’t.”

“Only because Trisha intervened.”

“Stiles you went into shock the moment the bullet flew out of that trigger. You know what that tells me? You wouldn’t have done it.”

Stiles shook his head. “I would have. I had nothing to loose. Trisha coming at me just startled me enough to make me realize exactly what I was doing. I wasn’t shocked by her death; just by how far I was willing to go. I really would… if Chris or Peter needed me to I would…” Stiles snapped his mouth shut.

“Well,” Scott tried, “you’ve always been loyal.”

“You’ve also always been one for revenge; although you call it justice.” Kira plopped down on the other side of Stiles.

Stiles made a startled noise at her sudden appearance, but scooted over to make room for her.

Kira reached across Stiles for the ice cream and Scott’s spoon.

“Were you listening in?” Stiles asked.

Kira smiled shyly. “Maybe, and I agree with Scott; you are not evil.”

“Then why do I feel so evil?” Stiles grumbled and laid his head on Kira’s shoulder.

“Because you are inherently good, and you just got a real glimpse of how bad you could be.” Kira stirred her spoon around the edges of the quart. “Stiles, you don’t have to be a nerd to know that there are hundreds of people, stories, and religious beliefs that have all at one point said something along the lines of that no matter how good or bad we are, there is always a great potential in us to be either one of those things. Today you saw how deep the rabbit hole goes. You love Peter and Chris. You’ve always been fiercely loyal and protective. I’m not saying what happened today was good, but what I am saying is: be aware and be wary, but don’t panic.”

Scott shoulder bumped Stiles. “Yeah, Stiles. Today was… the exception. It’s not everyday you have a crazy witch trying to kill your friends and soul mates.”

“With Chris and Peter as soul mates though, it might be,” Stiles pointed out.

Kira held Stiles' hand. “Then I guess it’s a good thing Scott and I are here to remind you when you’re going off the deep end.”

Scott beamed and wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders for a side hug. “Yeah, we’ll be your Jiminy Cricket.”

Stiles snorted in disbelief. “You two are ridiculous.” He squeezed Kira’s hand and bumped his head against Scott’s forehead. Calmness washed over him.

They were both so corny and optimistic.

It was exactly what I needed just then: his two best friends being sappy goofballs. “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends the multi chapter sequel to The Trouble With Threesomes and Supernatural Soul Mates. I feel like this story was a lot different than what people were expecting, and I have a lot of thoughts and feelings regarding it. In fact, I think I am going to post a [Tumblr](http://akira-of-the-twilight.tumblr.com/post/126028607613/feelings-on-dead-damned-and-dangerous#tumblr_notes) post later, so keep an eye out for it.


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